Seemingly Nothing Special
by underthecover
Summary: Life seemed to be a spinning void for Squidward, pulling him down until he drowned in the exacerbation of Bikini Bottom and all its calamities; that is, until he meets Squinn, a squid that seemingly matches his intellectual and cultural desires. As a new relationship develops, Squidward must analyze himself and Squinn to fully understand who he is and how his world is changing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Nothing ever seemed to change. That bothered Squidward more than anything in life, more than the constant annoyances of his neighbors and the slew of insufferable customers he dealt with on a daily basis; he couldn't take the continuity. For years, it seemed the only disturbances of the usual grind were the antics Spongebob and Patrick dragged him into, and the more time passed, the more even they felt monotonous. He longed for fame from his artistic abilities, but at that point, anything new would have been welcomed with open tentacles. Life seemed to be a spinning void, pulling him under waves until he drowned in the exacerbation of Bikini Bottom and all its calamities.

"Squidward," a voice broke his conscience.

Squidward snapped back to face the voice and found himself looking into the kitchen. Spongebob, flipping patties, gazed at him with his usual smile.

"What?"

"We have customers," Spongebob chirped, sliding across the kitchen to fetch the Krabby Patty fixings.

Squidward turned back to the register and realized a few fish stood in line, impatiently tapping their fins. With a sigh and monotonous tone, he asked the first fish for his order.

"I want a Triple Krabby Patty."

"Sea cheese?"

"Yes."

"$3.25."

The impatient fish slid the money towards Squidward and, after ringing him up, gave him a number to bring to his table. He quickly made his way through the line, using as little words as possible to get the fish out of his sight. He hated speaking to these simple-minded fish and found himself aggravated at their nuances: the heavy breathing, the gum chewing with a gaping mouth, the congregation of children screaming as they tugged on their mother, their greediness for food, everything made him tense and irritable. His bitterness only grew over the years of dealing with the same, monotonous, gluttonous fish. The bitterness continued to rise in him as he watched them scarf greasy patties and cheesy coral bits into their mouths, sucking the straws of seafoam sodas until they made the insufferable sound of rattling ice.

"It's empty, it's empty, stop sucking the straw over and over again," he mumbled, "you know nothing's going to come out."

"Do you offer free refills?" A new voice piped up from in front of the register.

Squidward continued to glare at the dining area with his head rested on his suction cups, avoiding eye contact with the annoying fish with the even more annoying question.

"Do you really think Krabs would allow free refills?"

"Well," the voice paused, "that's probably why they suck their drinks dry. It's the only way to get their money's worth."

Puzzled by this unusual response, Squidward turned his head towards the customer to realize that it wasn't a fish at all, but another squid. His wavy, dark brown hair was slicked back, yet a few strands stubbornly curved towards his thick, black-rimmed glasses. The thick frames defined his face, standing out more than his sophisticated outfit; a white collared shirt paired with a navy blue sweater vest. Squidward's eyes flickered as he quickly analyzed the stranger, realizing he had never seen this squid before.

He felt his gaze lingering on the squid for too long and recognized he had to break it. "What can I get for you?" Squidward asked in an attempt to move the conversation forward.

"Do you carry any tea?"

"I wish," Squidward scoffed, "if you're looking for culture, you're in the wrong place."

"Well then," the squid sighed with a shy smile, "I guess I won't have anything, then. I'm sorry to waste your time."

The squid turned to leave and as he walked away, Squidward felt an unexplainable tugging feeling in his chest. Maybe it was intrigue of the stranger's response, or maybe it was something more, but before he could think, he felt the words tumbling out of his mouth.

"I always bring tea from home, you can have some of mine."

The squid spun to face Squidward once more as Squidward reached under the register for the black tea and quickly barked at Spongebob for a ceramic mug of hot water. Spongebob brought him the mug and peaked over the window to observe what was happening before going on with his work, whistling as he spun about the kitchen making Krabby Patties. He quickly assembled the cup of tea and gave it to the stranger.

Twisting the tea bag, the squid watched the water become cloudy as the leaves steeped in the water. "I really appreciate it…" he trailed off, then looked back at Squidward, "I'm sorry, your name?"

"Squidward."

"I'm Squinn," he quaintly smiled once more, "thank you, Squidward."

Squidward found himself at a loss for words as Squinn sat at a table towards a back corner of the restaurant. He sipped his tea, his eyes flickering around the room as Squidward's had when they looked at one another. To Squidward, it looked like Squinn was analyzing the fish in the room; he wondered what this new squid was thinking.

Squidward tried to shake his lingering stare by sitting back and pulling out a book. He tried to confine his thoughts to the page, but the longer he forced himself to focus, the more his thoughts roamed until his eyes scanned the page only to pretend like he was reading. He couldn't understand why this squid was so captivating to him, but he could only guess his interest was peaked by a break from the boredom. Every fish in Bikini Bottom fell into the same mindless spell and he felt like the only colorful spectrum in a black and white world, and yet this stranger came along, seemingly as detached from the monotony as he. Squidward felt so many questions formulating in his mind: where this squid came from, why he was in Bikini Bottom, of all places, why he would be at the Krusty Krab with a cup of tea, clearly more sophisticated and articulated than any of the clientele.

Squidward glanced back to the table to find that Squinn was no longer at the table, and as he looked around him, he realized that the mug had been neatly placed on the stack of dishes near the register. The stack of dirty dishes served as a subtle way of telling customers to return their dishes when they finished, yet the majority of fish only saw this as decor and left their dishes at the tables. The mug, placed perfectly in the center of a plate, was speckled with the remnants of tea leaves.

He felt the tugging feeling rise in his chest once more as the guilt set in. _You could have spoken to him one last time if you looked up. If you weren't reading, he may have said something to you. Squidward quickly shook the feeling away, returning to his usual bitter resolve. What does it matter, _he reminded himself_, he's just like everyone else around here. Don't get your hopes up. There's nothing special about anyone in Bikini Bottom._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Squidward fell back into his solemn ways, his contempt growing the longer he felt depraved of genuine connection. His brief connection with Squinn stayed with him, though Squidward did his best to shake it from his memory. He found himself secretly hoping the squid would walk back through the glass doors, but as the days past, Squidward resolved to forget the encounter ever occured. It gave him false hope, a fading promise from the break of black and white Bikini Bottom; his lapse made the bitterness fester stronger.

On his only day off during the week, Squidward pumped enough motivation in him to make the annual trip to the library. The library proved to be one of the only public spaces Squidward enjoyed; no screaming children, obnoxious smacking of gum, or grease droplets spattering on the tables gave him the only silence he found anywhere besides his own home. Surrounded by isolating towers of books, the shelves shielded him from the ugliness encapsulating him. He longed to exist in that sweet silence forever, only breaking it to practice the clarinet, but he knew such a dream would never be achievable.

Squidward slid his book down the return chute as he walked into the building, immediately greeted by vending machines adorned with Kelp Nougat Crunchs and Goo Bars of all sorts. He attempted to swallow the annoyance building in him as his mind flashed to the patrons of the Krusty Krab, but his muscles relaxed as he ascended the wide winding stairs that led to the top floor. The shag carpet, a shade of lightly colored kelp, contrasted the slight off-white walls and dull grey-blue tables scattered about the floor. The skylights beckoned the sunlight to beam across the tables and illuminate the gaps between the books neatly stacked on the tall shelves. Squidward couldn't help the smile forming at his lips as he glided across the floor, moving whimsically with the serenity of the scene. He made his way to the often visited fiction shelves and found his way to the W section, the second last row on the right. As he turned the corner, he kept his eyes on the books, scanning for the author he yearned to read once more. He found the book he was looking for and opened it, analyzing the table of contents for his favorite poems.

"Squidward?" a familiar voice spoke in a low voice.

Startled, Squidward pivoted towards the direction the voice came. Squinn sat encompassed with open books and sheets of paper haphazardly strewn about the table. He had a pencil in tentacle.

"Squinn," Squidward replied, startled to see him again. He felt himself putting aside his prior conviction to isolation, struggling to stick with a clear path in thought. _What are you doing?,_ he asked himself, _it's a chance meeting, it's nothing. You know you won't see him again. _He forced himself to stifle his budding smile.

"What are you reading?" Squinn asked.

Squidward walked closer to the table and showed the other squid the cover. "Lyrical Ballads by William Whalesworth and Samuel Coralridge", he sighed with poise, "it's one of my favorites."

"Do you have a favorite poem?"

Squidward paused for a moment before he answered, "Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey."

Squinn nodded and closed his eyes, tilting his head into the streams of sunlight from the window behind him. He recited a portion of a stanza:

_I may have owed another gift, _

_Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, _

_In which the burthen of the mystery, _

_In which the heavy and the weary weight _

_Of all this unintelligible world, _

_Is lightened:_

_Almost suspended, we are laid asleep _

_In body, and become a living soul._

Squidward felt his heart flutter and digested the words, the reassurance that there was, in that speaker's life, a serene mood that eased the trifles and calamities of the world. Squidward longed for that mood and sought it out in artistic fame, yet the countless times of scanning the poem never evoked as much feeling as the way they struck his heart strings now. Suddenly pulling himself back to reality, he frantically sought to stifle it by coughing and tucking the book under his tentacle.

"W-what are you reading?"

"Oh," Squinn responded sheepishly, "I'm working on transcribing this sheet music."

Intrigued, Squidward moved closer to the table and leaned over to carefully inspect Squinn's work. A book was flipped open to a scrawl of music notes, and on a loose-leaf page of empty staffs, Squinn's neatly rounded handwriting detailed every note from the book.

"I'm trying to create sheet music for a Beethoven sonata...number eight, opus 13."

"What do you play?" Squidward asked.

"Cello."

Squidward gulped, remembering every time he played cello songs on his turntable as he played clarinet solos overtop. The instrument was a perfect accompaniment for clarinet, and now knowing Squinn clearly possessed musical talent, Squidward felt even more nervous around him. Never before had another soul gave him anxiety, yet here, only a few feet apart, Squidward's heart raced at the thought of speaking to someone as knowledgeable of music and literature as he. Internally, he felt tongue-tied, but again, he felt words coming out of his mouth before he could process what they were.

"I'd like to learn how to transcribe music," he blurted.

Squinn looked up at the squid next to him and adjusted his glasses. "I could teach you, if you'd like."

"Yes," Squidward said, his mind a million miles away from his body.

Squinn tore a piece of paper off of his sheet music and scribbled down a phone number. "I don't have my phone with me right now," he explained, "but take my number. Let me know when you're available and I can show you some time."

Squidward's mouth felt dry as he took the paper, realizing that now, his mouth finally felt numb and unable to provide anymore words. He quickly bade Squinn goodbye and scurried down the stairs, overcome with a sudden urge to put some distance between them. His mind spun with thousands of thoughts, _He IS real; You finally found someone who isn't annoying; You never know, he may be annoying as everyone else; Has anyone EVER been interesting to you? Don't get your hopes up. _He checked the book out and found himself walking home at an accelerated pace, his mind still in the library. He analyzed the scene over and over until it twisted into rounding the corner and seeing Squinn at the table, studying the music like his life depended on it, only looking up to recite Tintern Abbey to a tee. The memory, so consuming, devoured the passing of time until Squidward realized his tentacle tapped the steps leading up to his door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Squidward couldn't understand why texting Squinn seemed so daunting. He found himself staring at his phone blankly each day, waiting to type the number into the _To_ section of the app. Three days had passed since their encounter, yet he kept Squinn waiting, debating on whether he wanted to text him or not. He appreciated Squibb's articulate nature and thorough understanding of the arts. He saw culture in Squinn, a quality inherently lost on the bottom feeders of Bikini Bottom. This set them up for the seemingly perfect friendship, but the thought of it gave Squidward an unexplainable unease. It seemed too good to be true, a squid appearing out of nowhere with similar interests, and it put Squidward on edge. _Where did he come from? Are his interests genuine? Is he the sea creature I've been looking for: someone to share hobbies and find friendship in? _Squidward hoped Squinn was as genuine as he appeared to be.

As Squidward sat the register zoning out, Spongebob peeked his head out the window and looked over Squidward's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Squidward shot up in surprise and quickly stuffed the phone out of sight. "What? Nothing."

Spongebob stared at the squid quizzically. "Why did you have your texts open? Why were they blank?"

Squidward started to stammer, trying to come up with an excuse, but it was too late. Spongebob donned a similar expression to when he discovered Squidward liked Krabby Patties; with a sly, all-knowing grin and slightly narrowed eyes.

"Is it a girl?" he cooed, leaning closer.

Squidward sighed deeply and shoved the sponge farther backwards. "No, Spongebob, it's not a girl."

Spongebob quickly fell back into the kitchen and darted out to the boat Squidward sat in. Squidward now had his arms crossed as Spongebob laughed.

"Squidward, you don't have to hide a girl from me," Spongebob reassured, "Oh! Oh! Maybe I can help you win her over. What does she like? Music? Art? Dancing? Krabby Patties?"

Squidward shut down Spongebob's eagerness by pushing him back into the kitchen. Spongebob's shoes skidded across the floorboards as Squidward tried to contain him in the kitchen.

"Oh, I've got it all under control, buddy, don't you worry," Squidward cooed in a condescending tone.

Squidward returned to the boat, relieved Spongebob would no longer bother him. This was a false hope, as Spongebob poked his head up in the window once more.

"Are you suuure you've got it?" he muttered.

"Yes, I've got it!" Squidward exclaimed louder than he expected. His eyes quickly flickered around the dining room as half of the fishes' eyes were on him with bewilderment. Squidward's gaze darted from them to Spongebob.

Spongebob laughed his usual hearty laugh. "Well, you can't have it if you don't text her. Just do what I did with Patrick and strike up a conversation about your interests!"

"About being a dimwit, no doubt," Squidward mumbled, then chuckled to himself, his nose crinkling."Hah, dimwits. Definitely."

Though Spongebob thoroughly annoyed him, Squidward looked deeper into the sponge's words as the conversation ended, Spongebob ducking behind the grill once more. Squidward realized how rare the situation was, to meet another sea creature with the same interests. This was someone he could confide in, someone he could spend time with, someone who could break up the monotony. _It would be stupid to give this up, Squidward, _he finally resolved, _just do it already._

Hours later, as the restaurant closed, Squidward hung back to let Spongebob and Mr. Krabs gain some distance on him. Finally alone, he pulled his phone out with shaking tentacles. He pulled the piece of torn paper from his pocket and typed the number anxiously, spacing out the time between each digit input. He sighed deeply, his heart beating quicker as he sent the first text. The response was almost immediate.

Him: _Hey. It's Squidward._

S: _Hey. I was wondering if you would text soon._

Him: _Sorry. I've been working. Just got done for the day. _

S: _Just let me know when you'd like a lesson. I'm available whenever you are. _

Him: _I'm available Friday night._

S: _Okay. Where?_

Him: _Doesn't matter. What are my options?_

S: _Your home, my home, a public place. _

Squidward analyzed this text, admittedly, deeper than he had to. This message provided him the proverbial fork in the road; should he take him at arm's length and go to a public area, or take the bait to invite him over? It was a bold move, but the more he studied it, the more Squidward realized that Squinn's offer of either house granted him all the information he needed to make a deduction.

Him: _My house is fine._

A pause.

S: _Okay. Give me an address and time at your earliest convenience. _

Squidward's heart fluttered unexpectedly, a foreign feeling to him as he finally reached home and entered its comfort. He attempted to make himself comfortable by making a cup of tea, but the newfound emotions swirling within him created a veil over his eyes. His judgements clouded as he pondered, _Why does this unsuspecting squid stir such a feeling in me?_ It was a question he toyed with throughout the night, sipping on tea, taking a bath, readying for bed. Never before had an emotion of this sort risen in his heart, an anxious feeling towards the unknown, a confusion and stir towards his sensibilities and normalities. It was a feeling that chewed his mind as he lay in bed, texting Squinn his address and a time to meet later in the week. The thought tumbled in his mind over and over, never letting up until he finally went to sleep: _Why does this unsuspecting squid stir such a feeling in me?_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

He recognized his pacing about the room was entirely unnecessary. There were no anxieties about a music lesson between acquaintances, but the same feelings stirred in Squidward's uneasy heart as he set up the living room for his guest. He set a tray on the coffee table, adorned with two mugs and a kettle of water, the steam slipping out around the lid's haphazard seal. The pillows had been fluffed and readjusted each time he had passed them, the music stand moved around the front of the couch, the clarinet picked up and set down on the end table over and over. It came about in an almost rehearsed fashion, meticulously circulating through each item in the room until they had been tweaked so many times, it became a waste of time. Squidward sighed and, taking in a deep breath, sat on the couch. The waiting began, each minute feeling like twenty, until the clock struck eight. The doorbell rang.

Squidward attempted to swallow his nerves when he opened the door to Squinn. Tonight, Squinn wore a burgundy sweater vest in place of the navy blue, and his hair was no longer slicked back. Parted in the middle, it fell in messy waves, the short ends tucking under the glasses and the longer pieces trickling down to his shoulders. He smiled.

"Hi, Squidward," he said, "It's good to see you again." His cello stood in a case slightly behind him.

"Come in," Squidward greeted as coolly as he could. He pulled the door open farther and motioned for Squinn to follow.

Squidward beckoned for Squinn to come to the couch and sit while Squidward went to the kitchen to fetch his box of tea. Out of the corner of his eye, Squidward noticed Squinn looking around the room, staring intently at the frames on the wall and books packed onto the shelf. Squinn's gaze could not be averted until Squidward spoke, causing Squinn to jump.

"What kind of tea would you like?"

"O-oh," Squinn stammered, "sorry, which black tea is your favorite?"

"I tend to drink Earl Grey."

"Then Earl Grey, please."

"Would you like anything in it?" Squidward asked.

Squinn fell quiet for a moment, his eyes lingering on the mugs before he turned his head towards Squidward again.

"Have you ever tried lemon in it?"

"Lemon?" Squidward inquired, his nose crinkling slightly, "No, I haven't. I have lemons though."

"That would be much appreciated."

Squidward returned to the kitchen to cut a slice of lemon, all the while keeping an eye on the squid that seemed to chew the scenery attentively. Squidward returned and fixed their cups, an Earl Grey with lemon for Squinn and a rose white tea for Squidward.

"You have a nice home," Squinn spoke in an almost wistful tone, "who are those squids in the pictures?"

Squidward smiled at them, holding his mug close to his chest. "Mumzy and Papa," he sighed, "I miss them."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Oh," Squidward said, his face flushing crimson, "no, they're still alive. Ah. I just don't see them as often as I'd like."

Squidward took the awkward silence to sip his tea. _This is going a lot more awkwardly than I envisioned_, he thought. Squinn seemed on edge, his eyes lingering on the pictures for an unprecedented amount of time. He wanted to shift the conversation as naturally and quickly as he could.

"I, um, keep most of the photos on the main floor. The top floor mostly features my art."

This sentence sparked a more lively air in Squinn. "Art? You're an artist?"

Squidward felt the grin rising to his lips, boastful when it came to discussing his passions. "Yes, I am. I try not to box in my creative efforts, but I tend to do abstract and impressionist paintings."

"Well, I'd love to see them some time," Squinn responded, twisting his tea bag around the mug, "maybe next time?"

Squidward nodded, but as Squinn sipped his tea, he came to a realization: _he just invited himself over again. _Squidward couldn't believe how smoothly Squinn had pulled it off. Squidward began analyzing what he observed about Squinn and noticed that in new or unfamiliar situations, he came off hopelessly clueless and awkward. Yet, when Squinn felt he had a handle on the situation and understood the material, he came off so charming. Squidward's mind flashed back to Squinn leaning back in the sunlight streaming into the library window, the words of Whalesworth flowing off the tongue like they had been rehearsed countless times. His heart fluttered once more at the memory, and with that came another thought just as impending as the one he had the night he texted Squinn: _why does this guy make my heart flutter?_

"We should start working on music," Squinn chirped. His confidence seemed to be stronger. Squidward couldn't tell if it was purely coincidental or Squinn somehow knew that Squidward's heart fluttered behind his rib cage from the memory and artful excuse to come back.

"I know nothing about transcribing music."

"It's not too difficult," Squinn assured, "here, let me show you."

Squinn fell into a detailed explanation of tearing apart sheet music. He showed Squidward how to identify notes on a staff, how some notes changed to sharps depending on the way the key signature looked, how to translate that to the instrument at hand. Squidward took note of Squinn's passionate responses, how skilled he seemed to be at teaching. The words flowed from Squinn like he'd spoken them a thousand times, the task at hand no more difficult than simply reading music. Squinn's guidance led Squidward to tearing apart a simple piece of music that Squinn had brought as practice. _If you can do this, you can do anything, _Squinn guaranteed. As Squinn reached to pull the cello from its case, Squidward felt a shock wave through his body as he realized an hour and a half had passed. Squidward felt his nerves ease the longer he spent with Squinn, even laughing at a few of the squid's jokes. His heart felt liberated, in some strange way; capable of expressing emotions about music and joy that he was not accustomed to indulging in. His daily inhibitions faded from his consciousness as Squinn spoke, and the more he spoke, the harder the question pounded in Squidward's head, _why do I feel so free with him? What is this feeling?_

"You know," Squidward chuckled, "I've never met someone with such a passion for music in their voice."

"Do you really think so?" Squinn asked, his eyes lighting up with delight from the compliment.

"Yes. I would love to hear you play."

"I assumed you would want to hear the piece I was working on when you last saw me," Squinn chirped as he readied his cello.

"I'd like to see how you pull everything you spoke about into action."

Squinn nodded, borrowing the music stand to hold his haphazardly collected papers. The loops and curves of his handwriting filled the page to the brim, making it difficult for Squidward to understand what precise notes were on the staff and how they had been arranged. With a quick exhale, Squinn began playing.

He barely referenced the notes as the bow gracefully skated across the strings, its swelling sound filling the room with a sweetly air. Squinn's eyes were shut, yet every note he hit with impeccable accuracy, the vibratos echoing throughout the room. Squidward watched in absolute awe, completely captivated by the conviction of the song. The bow coaxed each note into the air, and for the first time, Squidward saw a new life breathed into Squinn. Squinn moved with the cello, each bob of the head falling into the music. Squidward's tug of the heart returned while he watched the song be played, and he didn't know what felt more fascinating to him, basking in the sweet serenade of the notes or noticing how Squinn became one with the music. His flow cascaded with every note, rose with crescendos, fell with their deconstruction. The experience was mystical, and as the song came to a close and Squinn looked at Squidward, his chest tightened, the reason unbeknownst.

"How was it?" Squinn asked sheepishly.

Squidward fumbled for the words to even begin to describe the eloquence and transformation that occurred before him, but in a fear of coming off the wrong way, he played it off simply. "It was magnificent. Breathtaking."

"Thank you, thank you. It means a lot."

Squinn gathered up his things, realizing the clock had struck ten. Squidward led him to the front door, wrapping up their small talk. As Squidward opened the door, Squinn stood facing him, half submerged in the soft moonlight and half by the harsh yellow light illuminating Squidward's foyer.

"Let me know if you have any questions," Squinn reminded him, "I'm always happy to help."

"Alright," Squidward smiled. They gazed at each other for the smallest abiding moment before Squinn turned and walked off into the night.

Squidward's head spun with a multitude of thoughts as he tidied up the room and readied for bed. His mind now fluctuated between the poetry reciting and cello playing, both memories tossed into consideration for the moment in which Squinn truly opened up his charming side. The draw towards this new squid was virtually indescribable to Squidward, who felt foreign to this new idea of companionship. His anxieties had been slightly alleviated as he began to know Squinn a bit better, but being someone who seldom had a plentiful amount of friends, he wasn't exactly sure what move to make next. He wasn't entirely sure of _what_ he was supposed to feel, how to express said feelings without coming off in a negative way, similar to what the people in his life did. The most dreadful thing, in Squidward's mind, was coming off like Spongebob.

Squidward couldn't resist opening their messages and initiating some form of conversation. Their night together filled him with a new sense of excitement and adrenaline he had never experienced.

Him: _Thank you for coming over tonight. I appreciate your teaching me to transcribe. _

Almost immediately:

S: _Any time. I enjoyed it. _

Him: _So...about my art?_

S: _Let me know whenever you're available and I would love to see your art. _

Him: _That sounds good. Thanks._

S: _Thank YOU._

The fluttering feeling, the sensation of knots being tied within himself, none of it dissipated as the text conversation wrapped up for the night. Squidward noticed it only seemed to get worse when faced with an interaction with Squinn. _Odd_, pondered Squidward as he readied to go to sleep, _my chest feels tight whenever I speak to him._ _That's new. I wonder why that is. _


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Oddly enough, Squinn requested they meet earlier in the day that Sunday. _Earlier would be preferable, _Squinn's text read, _I have a surprise for you._ Speaking to Squinn, in and of itself, no longer resonated as a strenuous task for Squidward. The idea of a surprise and the agony over what said surprise would be plunged Squidward into his usual worries. He couldn't fathom what the surprise could be, and when he realized this, another fact dawned on him: _I barely know him. _Squinn had gotten to know Squidward's literature preferences, where he worked, and now his art, yet Squidward's only notions of Squinn's character were black tea, cello player, and a knowledge of Whalesworth poems. Thus, Squinn's ability to find some sort of present for Squidward seemed more believable, but this mildly rattled his conscience. _Why don't I know much about him? Why haven't I been more attentive of him? _He definitely felt a friendship budding between them, but he didn't put as much effort into getting to know Squinn as Squinn did to him. Squidward couldn't understand why things had become one sided in that sense, especially because he recognized so many similarities between them that a friendship was only logical. He vowed to ask Squinn more probing questions about his life, get to know him as Squinn had begun to know him, raise his intuitions to be perceptive of potential surprises for his new friend. Now, having a friend after so many years of solitude, he didn't want to let it go.

Squinn arrived as promptly as before, ringing the doorbell at 12p.m. sharp. As Squidward opened the door to his friend, he realized Squinn stood slightly leaning on a bike. A large canvas strap slung across his body, the bag resting on his hip. This time, he wore a foliage green sweater vest. His hair, once again, slicked back with a few stray pieces framing his glasses.

"Hey," he smiled, "where should I put my bike?"

"Anywhere is alright," Squidward responded, but he noticed the discomfort in Squinn's eyes and uneasy body language that made him correct himself, "I can wheel it behind the house. Come inside, I'll be back."

Squidward wondered why Squinn always seemed anxious when he first arrived to his house. Reflecting on Friday night, he recollected how relaxed Squinn seemed in his company. He didn't quite understand why Squinn would feel that way, yet he'd be a hypocrite to pretend like he felt no anxieties towards the beginning.

Squidward leaned the bike against the back of his house next to his. He made his way back inside to Squinn who still stood in the doorway, gazing about the room, tapping his tentacles together nervously.

Squidward took lead of the conversation once more. "I'll lead you upstairs."

The pair ascended the stairs and Squidward led Squinn into his art studio. The sea foam green tiles contrasted the burgundy and salmon speckled walls. The large round window brought forth glistening sunlight that beamed throughout the room, casting a brilliant light against the art. Paintings and sculptures of all sorts lined the room with an easel and stool in the center of the room. Next to the easel, a wheelable cart overflowed with paint and accessories, a palette carefully balanced overtop. The paintings on the wall fit into the abstract and impressionist ideals, featuring squids of different colors and styles that mimicked mosaics and the Vitruvian Man. Squinn walked towards the center of the room and spun in every direction, studying the art with wonder and excitement. He turned to face Squidward who stood in the entryway, the light from the window sparkling on his glowing expression.

"Wow, Squidward," he said breathlessly, "these are amazing."

"Thank you," Squidward grinned, the color rising to his cheeks. He watched Squinn make his way around the room, inspecting each piece from every angle. The grip on Squidward's heart tightened as Squinn analyzed each piece like museum material. His mind quickly flashed back to fish fleeing his art class, his talents swept under the rug by critics, cast as a joke to the world. Squidward felt ethereal in a room of breathtaking light encapsulating him in warmth, his only friend gazing keenly at his long-hidden art, feeling like a true artist for the first time in a long time. His heart swelled at the scene before his eyes, everything finally coming into fruition: _It was love. _

Love, the only emotion he lacked in expression. He loved his parents dearly, yet all of the love locked deep in his heart had long been subdued by the darkness and calamities that plagued his miserable surroundings. With this angelic light cast over his passion, his hopes, his futures, he felt the bitterness start to fade. His passion and happiness lie in the creation of art and music, but in no way before had love tightened his breath, flooded his heart, followed any cliches like the poetry he poured over in desperation to feel something. Here he was, surrounded by his greatest accomplishments, yet all his life, he was missing the element that tied everything together: outside appreciation for his art, another's love for his creations, a force that secured his belief in his talents, and the center of it all lay in the center of the room.

_That's it,_ the idea dawned on Squidward, _the tugging at my heart, that foreign feeling. It's love. _The thing that had been missing from his dreams spun in the circle of the room now, admiring his ambitions like no other. Squinn gave him the attention, the knowledge, the companionship he always longed for, the very things he sought to stop searching for in a bottom-feeder town, protecting himself from any more disappointments. Those disappointments, anxieties, insecurities, everything faded as Squinn studied every piece with museum-like quality. The approval he yearned for, the artistic attention he lacked, everything wound up in Squinn. _It's love. _

"Are you ready for the surprise?" Squinn asked. His question broke Squidward's trance and he looked to Squinn, having completely forgotten about the surprise.

"Yes, I am."

"I signed both of us up for a painting session at the Bikini Bottom Community Center. It's not a painting class per se, but the idea is that everyone is provided with the materials to paint the same object, and at the end, we all compare paintings. Knowing you're an artist, I thought you may be interested in doing that."

"I've never done anything like that," Squidward replied with intrigue, "that sounds nice."

"The session starts at 1 and runs for two hours. I figured we could do that, then go to my place."

Squidward nodded with enthusiasm and the two descended the stairs, Squidward leading the way to the bikes behind the house. Squinn insisted he would carry both paintings to his house when the session ended, then lend the bag to Squidward to bring his art home. They rode side by side to the community center, all the while continuing their conversation. Squidward kept his promise in mind, determined to discover more about his companion's life.

"So, Squinn, I've been meaning to ask, what do you do for a living?"

"Oh, freelance type of things," Squinn responded, "I write for different magazine and newspaper columns on various topics. I also give music lessons."

"That's interesting," Squidward noted, "can you play more than just the cello?"

"Yes. Violin and piano."

At any other point, Squidward would press further, but his brain still felt so fogged from his earlier realization, he resolved to ask Squinn more about himself when they were at his house. For the time being, Squidward's thoughts were consumed with the notion of love. This love he felt towards Squinn seemed unclear; he wasn't sure what he loved more, the attention and adoration or the squid itself. Love was entirely new ground for him, an emotion in dire need of development. _Do I love him or what he does for me?_ He asked himself repeatedly, _what aspect of it do I love? _He decided that the love he felt was a combination of multiple things; excitement from acceptance, happiness from sharing it with someone he liked, the mystifying setting of the room when said feelings sparked within him. _That was it, it was everything happening at once. _

The squids arrived at the community center and each produced a bike lock, securing their bikes to the rack as they went inside. Squidward could sense the annoyance building in him as they walked through the hall, yet thankfully, they ducked into a room before it could get worse. The session featured roughly 15 other fish. As 1p.m. hit, a curly haired fish approached the front of the room.

"Hello, everyone," she greeted warmly, "thank you for coming out today. As you can see before you, we have provided you with canvases and different paints. Today, our subject is going to be a house. You have an hour and a half to paint the house, then we will reconvene and compare paintings! Have fun!"

With this send-off, the room grew loud with chatter coming from each fish. Squidward decided to paint his home in an abstract style, placed in an unfamiliar setting with overly curved lines. He avoided looking at Squinn's painting to keep it a surprise for the ending.

"I don't want to see yours until the hour and a half is finished," Squidward chuckled, "I want to be surprised by yours. And I want you to be surprised by mine."

"That's fair," Squinn smiled, "I feel the same way."

"I've been meaning to ask you something since I spoke to you at the library?"

"Oh?" This peaked Squinn's interest.

"I wanted to ask you why you went to the Krusty Krab last week," Squidward asked eagerly, "because you don't seem the type of fish to go there."

"What makes it seem like I don't go to places like that?"

Squidward swished his brush in water to clean it before dipping into a new paint. "You remind me of myself, in some ways, and I know I wouldn't enter the Krusty Krab if I didn't work there."

Squinn fell silent for a moment, concentrating deeply on his painting. Squidward panicked, wondering if his answer wasn't satisfactory, but Squinn answered him after a brief minute.

"I like to fish watch," he said finally, "I think it's interesting. You speak about your job with negativity, and if I remember our first meeting correctly, you said you didn't understand why they would suck their straws even when the cup is empty. I enjoy going to new places to make sense of _why_ they do that, rather than let it bother me. I think all walks of life are worthy of studying."

"How does it not bother you? The mediocrity, the insufferable sounds, the greasy fins touching every surface?"

"Because I put those aside to study who those fish are and why they do what they do. I find that looking at them through that lens eliminates any annoyances I may have."

"I don't understand how you could push that aside," Squidward sighed, "I never could."

"It took me many years to overcome those biases. I want to judge fish for who they are and how they work through their circumstances, not as a mass of mediocrity."

Squidward fell quiet as he continued his painting. He couldn't fathom setting aside those notions of other fish, to consciously go quiet to their obnoxious sounds, go blind to their grimey fins and greedy attitudes. That prejudice kept him safe from falling into the same spell, one of the strongest qualities of Bikini Bottom; the ability to drag brilliance down to blandness. Squidward did not have the ability to understand a world where he could turn off his aggravations to observe their actions, their obnoxious natures were too strong for him to handle. He drew his focus into his painting, falling into a wavy world of curved lines and bright colors.

As the time reached the 90 minute mark, the curly haired woman gently signaled to the fish that it was time to show their paintings to one another. The class formed a circle and, one by one, shared their pieces. Squidward scoffed at the basic paintings, not very creative or different in his eyes. When the circle came to him, he proudly displayed his house, placed against a maroon backdrop and plagued with lines squiggled to form a structurally unsound building.

"I love your painting," Squinn whispered as the class clapped. The curly haired fish motioned for Squinn to reveal his and, with an anxious sigh, Squinn did.

Squidward did not know what artistic talents to suspect of Squinn, but whether good or bad, all of his expectations were completely blown away. He stared in awe at Squinn's beautifully accurate representation of a house. Painted in a distinctly Italian-Renaissance style, the painstaking details of the structure felt so realistic to Squidward, it seemed like staring at a photograph. The periwinkle backdrop, the warm colored slope of the room, the hot pink flowers growing proudly from the window box, everything came together so profoundly accurate and beautiful that Squidward felt speechless as he studied the museum-material painting. His reveal was followed by the loudest round of applause while Squidward's awe still paralyzed him. As the class came to a close, everyone began to gather their belongings.

Squinn loaded their paintings into his bag, noticing Squidward's silence. "Are you alright?"

"I'm...I'm shocked," Squidward mumbled.

"Oh, did my painting not look good? I was nervous it didn't look so great, I didn't have much time to-"

"No, no, not at all. It was beautiful. One of the best paintings I've ever seen that wasn't my own."

It was Squinn's turn to blush a pale pink shade. "N-no, you're just saying that."

Squidward placed a tentacle on Squinn's shoulder. "I'm not just saying that."

Squinn's face grew to a deeper color and Squidward realized this was the first time he touched the other squid. His thoughts grew stronger in his mind as he felt Squinn's shoulder beneath his grip. _How is this possible? The talent, the culture, the philosophy, everything. I don't know what aspect of him I love more: the encouragement, the talent, the intelligence, or the sea creature behind it. What is this?_

Squinn's words brought Squidward back to reality. "So, my place, then?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Squidward found himself somewhat at a loss for words on the way to Squinn's place. He didn't know what he expected, but a brilliant musician and artist came as somewhat of a surprise to him. Squidward knew how much talent it took to do these things and he'd never met another sea creature with half as much talent as him. It instilled in him, for the first time, a level of uncertainty and self-consciousness; he never knew anyone to be more talented than him. The thoughts turned over and over in his mind like the bike wheel against the pavement: _Does he have more talent than I do? I'll be the judge of that when I get to his house,_ he concluded, _we'll see what else he has at home._

They made their way up a narrow path to a tall blocky building, erected higher than Squidward expected. He eyed the building curiously as the squids reached one of the doors.

"I thought we were going to your house," Squidward asked. He watched Squinn dismount the bicycle and he followed suit.

"Oh," Squinn said with slightly bulged eyes, "a house? I don't remember saying I had a house. I live in a studio apartment."

Squidward nodded as he and Squinn made it into the stairwell. Squinn motioned for him to follow into the elevator, insisting that he 'wouldn't make Squidward walk up every flight with a bike like he normally did'. Squidward only half acknowledged the joke, still eyeing the elevator curiously. He'd never known anyone to live in the Bikini Bottom Apartments and had no reason to be in the building. Squinn led the way as they stepped out of the elevator and wheeled their bicycles down towards the end of the hall. Squinn approached one of the doors on the left and pulled a key on a chain from around his neck, using it to unlock the door. Squidward never noticed the flash of the chain poking out from beneath his shirt collar.

"I'm so sorry if it's a mess," Squinn apologized as he wheeled his bike in the room and reached for Squidward's, "I'll prop your bike up over here."

Squidward entered the room and gazed around in awe. The walls bore a very light periwinkle color, almost a mix of periwinkle and cream. The windows, walls, and few doorways were trimmed with white and a large window directly across from the doorway let the sunlight flood onto the cherry wood floorboards. Adjacent to the large window was a long, thin desk, the bed on the right side of the room and a television on the left. The white desk found itself to be the home for a few small plants to soak up the brilliant light. On the right side of the wall next to the bed were floating bookshelves above another white desk, the shelves packed to the brim with books. The books spilled over onto the ground beneath and next to the desk. An easel also found itself tucked away towards the wall, a canvas depicting a landscape in the same style as the painting from the community center. It was half-finished.

On the left side of the room, a white couch full of throw pillows faced the window. A music stand stood near it, accompanied by his cello, allowed outside of its case so the warm sunlight drifted over its strings. The left side of the room also revealed a small kitchen and an island with two chairs facing towards the stove. As Squidward took everything in, he noticed the walls featured more artwork and pictures. Only two other paintings were hung on the wall, these paintings featuring a landscape and a row of buildings. The framed pictures littered each side of the wall, showing Squinn with various squids and fish. Squidward found himself immensely impressed with how much Squinn had done with the seemingly small space.

"Cup of tea?" Squinn offered as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Y-yes, thank you," Squidward replied.

Squinn motioned for Squidward to sit at the island as he filled the kettle and pulled two mugs down from a cabinet. He reached for a large box and handed it to Squidward.

"You can pick whatever type of tea you'd like."

"Thank you."

Squidward handed his tea choice to Squinn and Squinn assembled their cups. Squinn seemed to notice Squidward's silence and chalked it up to the apartment.

"I hope my little apartment isn't too disappointing."

"Oh, no, no," Squidward hurriedly corrected, "not at all. I like it. I just didn't know you lived in an apartment."

Squinn nodded and swirled his tea bag per usual when he felt uncomfortable. "Yeah, a house isn't exactly in my pay scale at the moment."

Squidward's heart lurched and he felt guilty for eyeing Squinn's apartment as he had. He tried to turn the conversation to a more lighthearted topic.

"Thank you for inviting me to that event," he said as he sipped his tea, "I enjoyed it."

"I'm glad. I loved your painting."

_I did, too, until I saw yours, _Squidward thought. He fought for something more appropriate to say. "Your painting was beautiful, Squinn."

"Oh," Squinn blushed, "No, it was nothing special. I just tried to practice some new techniques and color schemes."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't beautiful."

"You really mean it?" Squinn spoke softly. His face flushed a rosy pink and the sight of it made Squidward blush, too. He was taken aback by this natural response, unsure of why his face felt hot as Squinn relished in the compliment. Squidward tried to shake it off.

"Of course," Squidward said cooly, "it was beautiful. You're really talented."

Squinn nodded and suddenly set down his mug, turning to the refrigerator and pulling it open to gaze at the contents. "Dinner?"

"I don't want to impose," Squidward stammered.

"Not at all," Squinn piped up, his head still buried in the fridge, "what do you like?"

Squidward debated on what he should choose; being polite and saying 'anything is fine' or being specific and hoping Squinn would choose something he liked. He gulped, ready to make a choice. Before he could speak, Squinn turned towards him, leaning in the doorway to keep the fridge open.

"Do you eat meat?" he asked.

Squidward's brow furrowed. "Yes," he spoke with hesitation.

"I assume you like gravy?"

"Yes?"

Squinn's mouth curled into a smile. "Swedish Barnacle Balls?"

Squidward's face immediately glowed. He loved Swedish Barnacle Balls, though he hadn't had them in quite a while. "Oh, that sounds good!"

"Alright," Squinn replied. He skated around the kitchen retrieving everything he would need: meat, bread crumbs, spices, an onion, a bowl, a cutting board, and a plethora of other ingredients and utensils. He turned to the radio tucked away on the other side of the island and flipped it on to a random radio station, turning it down slightly so it provided a soft ambiance. He pushed the cutting board, knife, and onion to Squidward.

"Will you chop this onion for me?" he asked.

Squidward took the knife. "Diced or minced?"

"However you'd like," Squinn replied.

They carried on, Squinn tossing spices into the bowl while Squidward worked on chopping the onion. The radio sang popular songs, a weakness for Squidward that he never indulged in around others; yet the time of year was mid-spring, prompting more catchy and sweet songs to flood the radio playlist. He found himself tapping his tentacle to the beat, mouthing the words as Squinn spoke, Squinn mouthing the words as Squidward spoke. This was the first time Squidward cooked with someone that wasn't his mother, and as he worked alongside Squinn, he realized how lonely his life had been until this point. Cooking usually meant that he stood at the kitchen counter alone, haphazardly throwing things into a pan and imagining doing what he was now, working with a friend to make the perfect meal. He thanked fate for linking them together, uniting him with a squid with so many similarities that it would be astounding if they _weren't _friends. They chattered away, the pop songs serenading their words as they formed the ingredients into balls, slipping them into a skillet to cook. Squidward felt his inhibitions fading, his seldom happiness permeating through him and embodying him as he laughed with Squinn. An older pop song filled the glowing room as they cooked.

_The trouble, it might drag you down,_

_If you get lost, you can always be found._

_Just know you're not alone_

'_Cause I'm gonna make this place your home_

Squidward chuckled at the irony of the timing of the song. _That's the pop station for you,_ he mused, _cheerful against all odds and perfectly timed to sentimental moments._ Squidward found his smile irrepressible, and he usually didn't enjoy cheesy, picturesque moments that seemed impossible in the real world. This was the first instance he could recall cherishing in a moment like this, a moment as cliche as personal moments could get. At any other point in time, cheesiness and cliche were concepts Squidward avoided at all costs, wanting nothing more than to be as different and unique as possible. It was nice to fall into a moment like this, a moment that seemed too perfect to waste on trifling over the predictability. Squidward let himself enjoy it for once.

"Wait, you're kidding," Squinn grinned, "you mean to tell me that _you_ got kicked out of Tentacle Acres? _You_? Squidward Tentacles, kicked out of a community for-?"

"For messing with a reef blower, yes," Squidward chuckled.

"I can't believe it," Squinn said as he rotated the meatballs in the skillet, "I'm sorry, I don't believe you."

"Believe it, Squinn," Squidward laughed, his nose crinkling with every exhale, "that really happened."

Squinn transferred the meatballs to a new plate and covered them with foil, focusing on making the sauce to accompany them. He asked Squidward to put a few ingredients away, telling him where every spice went as he finished cooking. Squidward did as he was told and took a seat at the desk by the window, per Squinn's instructions. The golden sunlight still twinkled through the window, but not as blinding as the sunlight of the morning hours; this sunlight glowed with a friendly warmth, only encapsulating the room in an invigorating, radiating light. Squinn sat next to him a few minutes later and set a plate in front of him, the meatballs beautifully garnished with fresh herbs. They began to eat and gazed out at the street below; Squinn's apartment had the perfect view of the city. It was only then that Squidward realized that farther down the table, there was a hinge.

"There's a hinge over there," he noted, pointing to it, "this table opens up?"

"It lifts," Squinn nodded, "did you not see the doorway?"

Only after pointing it out did Squidward notice the door that led to the terrace. "You have a terrace?"

Squinn laughed once more. "Yes. You didn't notice the balcony outside?"

"I guess not."

"We can sit out there some time," Squinn promised, "it's a beautiful view, even more so than the view we have now. You feel closer to the city, sitting on the terrace; I enjoy playing cello out there in the summer."

_There he goes again, _Squidward thought, _that smooth way of coming up with another reason to see me. He's good at that._

"How did the food turn out?" Squinn asked.

"Amazing. It's amazing," Squidward nodded, his voice slightly muffled from the food in his mouth.

They fell quiet for a moment, the radio still cycling through its usual upbeat songs. The city looked more elegant from above; Squidward walked through it enough times to recognize every flaw about every street. This aerial view gave him a new perspective of the towering buildings, the boats bustling about, the smoke and steam from food boats rising in the sky. It didn't look like the same city.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Squinn asked.

"The city?"

"Yes."

"It looks better from up here," Squidward admitted, "it doesn't look that nice when you're in it."

"I think that's true for a lot of places," Squinn observed, "looking at something from a new perspective makes you feel differently about it. Being shoved on the street by fish in close proximity makes you uncomfortable and there are too many smells to distinguish what food boat is where, but when you look at it from here, you see dots scurrying and somehow finding their way through the chaos. You see various plumes of steam floating up from different areas of the city and you realize that the food boats aren't as close as you smell them to be. It's all about perspective."

Squidward longed to tell him that he changed his perspective on things, that Squinn changed his perspective on life's bleakness and inability to produce anyone interesting, but he felt himself too choked up to say it. He wasn't quite sure how to express this sentiment to his friend; he never quite knew how to express sentiment to anyone. The only sea creatures he had that were close to friends were Spongebob and Patrick, but it was so seldom to show them any positivity that he couldn't remember how he'd done it before. He resolved to hold that thought in, waiting for a moment that seemed right. The afternoon seemed to be going so smoothly, he didn't want to compromise it in any way. They finished their meals and Squidward noticed the sun was getting ready to set. He bade Squinn goodbye after a few minutes of conversation, and though Squinn insisted he would lead his friend downstairs, Squidward assured him he knew the way out. Squinn lent him his bag so Squidward could bring his painting home, a reassuring sign for Squidward; he'd see Squinn again.

As Squidward wheeled his bicycle outside and started riding home, he started wishing he hadn't left. Most of his adult life, he never wanted to leave the house if it wasn't necessary; the library and home were some of the only places he enjoyed being. Squidward pictured walking into his home as the sun nearly set, the house being as quiet and solemn as usual; he'd get ready for bed and slip under the covers, staring up at the ceiling until he couldn't take being awake anymore. He missed the fresh scenery, the window letting in that dazzling light, the brightness of the room washing away darkness brewing within him; he missed the plants, the food, the corny music that seemed annoying cliche in every other scenario; he missed Squinn. Squidward attempted to think of any excuse as he made his way home: flat tire, not feeling well, no work in the morning, not wanting to be alone, something, anything.

His heart and mind contradicted one another. His mind said _Are you serious? What did you expect, to stay the night? Squidward Tentacles doesn't spend the night at friends' houses, he doesn't have friends. Squidward Tentacles spends every night in the same house in the same bed and spends every day at the same job in the same solitude; it's the pain of being an artist. It's the pain of being the only one with a shred of talent in this dead-end city._

His heart spoke out against it. _Artists don't have to torture themselves to be good, look at Squinn, that's not what he does. You can't spend every night in the same house in the same bed or every day at the same job in the same solitude; you need friends. Tell him you're lonely. Text him. Tell him you miss him._

Squidward wrestled with his conflicting thoughts as he wheeled the bike behind the house and went inside. He texted Squinn as he got ready for bed, knowing he had to wake up early for work.

Him: _Thanks for spending time with me today. That was fun._

S: Y_ou don't have to thank me for seeing you. I like seeing you._

Squidward hesitated before making his next move.

Him: _Then we should do it again. _

S: _Yes, we should. Just text me when you're available. _

Him: _I will. _

S: _Goodnight, Squidward._

Him: _Goodnight. _

Squidward's heart and mind still fought with one another, their thoughts cross-examining one another all night; _Ask him to stay longer next time, you don't need friends, everyone needs friends, he's a better artist than you, that doesn't mean anything, you should be alone, no one should be alone. _These thoughts clamored through his head throughout the night, and when he rose the next morning, he felt like neither his heart or head got a wink of rest.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

The weeks flew by faster than Squidward experienced them. He and Squinn texted one another nearly every day and Squidward found his weekends and some weeknights in Squinn's company; going to the library, meeting for coffee, riding bikes through the park, everything Squidward loved doing before he had a friend to do it with. He thrived on the company to the point where going home didn't give him the same satisfaction as hearing Squinn's voice, getting that all too familiar text: _Are you available to do something? _So much of Squidward's life plunged him into an abyss of loneliness, yet with the premise of a new friend that seemingly enjoyed so many of the same pleasures, his appetite for social contact was insatiable. He felt as if he were falling into a cloud, a fogged perspective of long-forgotten happiness and companionship. Squidward never quite realized how lonely he had been, how isolated he seemed to the world; everyone around him took quickly to seeing the drastic change in Squidward's demeanor. The Krusty Krab and its customers never failed to annoy him, but his grumbles and gripes turned into rolling eyes and scoffing under his breath, his attention drawn to his phone when work got him down. Mr. Krabs only made small side comments: _I like the attitude change, Mr. Squidward. _Spongebob pestered him more frequently, but resolved the change to be from a girl or an artistic breakthrough, and he left the squid be: _You seem so much happier, Squidward. If you weren't so busy, I'd invite you to go jellyfishing with Patrick and I! You're never home anymore! _Squidward refused to tell Spongebob where he was going. With Squinn came the euphoria of companionship and his heart trumping his head, his heart leading into phases of _Isn't it nice to have friends? No one can be alone as long as you have. You're finally in the company of the only sea creature in town with almost as much culture as yourself. _

Though this elation greatly improved his disposition, a new feeling accompanied it. Squidward reflected on the day Squinn swirled around his gallery and proclaimed his art to be beautiful, but that overwhelming feeling of love surged through his heart every time he saw Squinn or read his texts. At first, Squidward thought nothing of it, assuming the feeling was a platonic response to an appreciation foreign to him, but as the weeks continued, things shifted. His love for his friend became something more, something Squidward couldn't quite identify as easily; he thought of it as "friends with a little more". He couldn't quite describe why he felt so drawn to the squid, why talking to Squinn made his heart flutter, why his thoughts became consumed with his appreciation for what Squinn had given him. Squidward found it odd that these unfamiliar feelings suddenly surfaced, this unshakable platonic love that confined his thoughts to their relationship, but he chalked it up to a natural response from his years of isolation. _It's no wonder you're so drawn to him, _he thought to himself, _you haven't received that attention from anyone except Spongebob, who lacks everything you've ever sought in a friend. That feeling will pass the longer your friendship continues. _

Squidward let these speculations churn through his head as he rode his bike to Squinn's apartment from the Krusty Krab. He always looked forward to Saturday nights because there was no rush to get to bed early for work; the Krusty Krab was never open on Sundays. Squinn promised to have dinner ready and Squidward immediately smelled it as soon as he entered the apartment. Per usual, Squinn wheeled the bike towards his own, leaning it against the wall.

"I made spaghetti tonight," Squinn said as he motioned for Squidward to move towards the window, "I hope that's alright."

"That sounds great, I'm starving," Squidward assured. The pair sat at the table where Squinn assembled two plates of spaghetti, sprinkled with the parsley Squinn grew in the windowsill. Ironically, Squidward found one of the most enjoyable parts of Squinn's apartment to be the overlook of the city. He stared down at the glowing windows of buildings and miniscule dots scurrying along the sidewalk and realized the scene didn't seem so chaotic from so far up.

"How was your day?" Squinn asked.

Squidward nodded with his mouth full. "Same as usual, I wasted my life at work, I came right here, this food is amazing."

"I'm glad...the food, I mean, I'm glad you like the food. I know your favorite part of the day is leaving work."

"How was your day?"

"Oh, it was alright," Squinn smiled, "I taught a few music lessons and worked on my latest article." He struggled to wind the noodles into his fork.

Squidward knew Squinn's articles well, he just had no idea who penned the astounding words beforehand. Squinn wrote for The Pacific, a highly prestigious magazine that focused on literary and cultural commentary; Squidward was the only sea creature he knew to read it and the articles were so profoundly interesting and cultured, he knew only a creature of great talent could captivate readers the way Squinn did.

"What is your article on?"

"Sturgeon Freud's unconscious mind philosophy and the ways it impacts fish in all aspects of life. I really enjoy the subject matter."

Squidward could gush about Squinn's intelligence, but he always felt himself so self-conscious of giving compliments that he overanalyzed them to the point of them falling flat. The words came together so eloquently in his head and spilled out of his mouth simply as "that's great" or "that's beautiful", or even better, "nice job".

"That sounds really interesting," Squidward nodded, "Your articles are always very intriguing."

"Oh, stop," Squinn said, his cheeks flushing with color. Squidward quickly glanced away, knowing he would blush if he saw his friend's facial expression. He often realized he would blush or fall quiet when Squinn did, making Squidward reevaluate his "friends with a little more" concept every time. He couldn't fathom why his natural response was to blush alongside his friend.

The squids caught up, eating dinner and laughing until the sun began to set, emitting a rose gold and nectarine colored aura across the apartment. The radio continuously cycled through the usual pop songs, this time, its cliches perfectly timing the moment of sunlight beaming into the room:

_In the morning when I wake_

_And the sun is coming through,_

_Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,_

_And you fill my head with you_

The radio never failed to chime in with its stereotypes and cheesy lines, but Squidward enjoyed it in the confines of the apartment, his heart open to a break from the continuous quest to be unique and cultured. He related to the words serenading the scenery, the sun on his face and his thoughts engrossed with the city and Squinn. It was nice to be cliche at times.

As they finished their meals, Squinn took both plates to the sink while Squidward rested his head in his tentacle, his eyes fixated on the city below them. Squinn returned to the table and stood next to Squidward. He cleared his throat awkwardly, prompting Squidward to look up at him.

"It's prettier outside. Why don't we sit on the terrace?"

He beckoned for Squidward to follow as he lifted the hinged part of the desk and opened the door. The right half of the terrace was framed by the window, the left half backed by the brick wall. The balcony consisted of a thin black bar topping a pane of glass. Squinn instructed Squidward to stay there for a moment, and when Squinn returned a few minutes later, he brought blankets for both of them to wrap themselves up in. Squinn sat with his back to the window, Squidward's back to the wall, both squids bundled in large blankets as the setting sun snatched some of the warmth in the air. Squidward arranged the blanket to wrap around his shoulders and cover his head like a hood. The squids continued their conversation from inside, laughing with one another as the golden sky shifted to navy, then black; the only light sources were the radiance of the city lights and the candles flickering in the apartment.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Squinn commented. "I only wish there wasn't as much light pollution here. I imagine the stars would be so close, we could almost reach out and touch them."

"What do you think a star would feel like if you held it in your tentacle?"

Squinn opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly closed it and turned to look at Squidward. Only the white collared shirt poked out from Squinn's blanket, the sweater vest shed for comfort. Squinn gazed at Squidward and Squidward felt the fluttering sensation in his stomach once more.

"I want to know what you think," Squinn stated.

Squidward looked towards the light-speckled buildings of the skyscrapers and turned his eyes back to Squinn. He hesitated before he spoke. "I imagine the stars would fade away."

Squinn tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing. "Interesting," he mumbled, "why's that?"

Squidward wasn't insecure about much, but expressing his loneliness clammed him up. He talked at great length about his achievements, his talents, his future dreams of being a famous artist and musician, but when it came to deep emotions of loneliness and isolation, he became tongue-tied. That part of his brain always convinced him that artists must suffer to create, but it never told him how to express that suffering in words; only art.

"They just seem so surreal," Squidward lied, "It's hard to imagine them in my grasp."

"You're an artist," Squinn speculated, "you can imagine paintings before they come to fruition and compositions before a note escapes your clarinet."

Squidward took this astounding moment to look back at the city lights, watching a few windows go dark as the night fell into a later hour. Squinn caught him in a loop of contradictions, recognizing that Squidward _did _have the ability to fathom what it would mean to hold a star in tentacle, but Squidward doubted that his friend truly knew how many insecurities and deep truths were veiled beneath that excuse.

"I think I can see how a star would fade away," Squinn finally spoke.

Squidward stared at him, perplexed. "How?"

Squinn spoke slowly, his eyes wandering from the buildings to the sky's slight speckles of light. "Stars are alien to us; we've never held one or come physically close enough to inspect it up close. It's a distant abstraction, something we never imagine we will reach. Finally reaching it is something our minds cannot grasp the concept of. We don't know what to do."

Squidward took the cue to respond, careful to not spill too many of his secrets. "It's lonely," he said with hesitation, "to think you'll never reach the stars. It becomes something so built up in our minds that reaching it seems impossible. I truly don't know what I would do if my tentacle ever grazed one."

Squinn slightly shifted positions and Squidward realized the squid inched closer to him. Squidward's heartbeat quickened as his eyes met Squinn's. Squinn looked at him with a subdued eagerness, looking as if he were restraining himself from acting to eccentrically. His hair fell in messy waves and the shorter pieces curled around the frames of his glasses and Squidward realized he really enjoyed the way Squinn's hair contradicted every orderly thing about him.

"What is _your _star, Squidward?" he asked in a low voice.

This profound moment plunged Squidward into internal chaos, every part of his internal self seemingly colliding. The voice, the perfectly wavy hair, the thick frames, the sweater vests and pressed collared shirts, the laughter and cello and art and cooking and writing swirled around Squidward's conscience like Squinn swimming in a sea of artwork in Squidward's gallery and everything, the heart fluttering, the flush of rose-red, every moment of hesitation and held breath, it all made sense. _It's love, _Squidward panicked, searching Squinn's eyes, _the love for appreciation, it's more than that. _Every preconception of platonics and love for creation blended into one singular, gyrating mass of overwhelming attention: _it's love, Squidward. _That explained the anxieties and urge to see and speak to him all the time, the inability for Squidward to shake his friend from mind, the secret desire to desert the loneliness and stay with Squinn so every day ended on a terrace in the sunset: _it's not just a love for art or companionship. You LOVE him. _

Squidward had never felt romantic feelings for another sea creature. Platonics were few and far between, but he knew the love of a friend and the love of a family member, and the romantics involved in this love were so estranged from his heart, he didn't quite know how to react. Squidward's knowledge of romantic relationships came from soap operas and cheesy romance novels, hardly anything realistic; no one really leaned in for the kiss, spoke the classic lines that led up to it, found themselves in the embrace of a perfect sunset and holding tentacles on a terrace so profoundly separated from the world that the only two beings who could come together were one another. It wasn't plausible, something so alien to Squidward that the emotions exacerbated him and wore him weary. The only thing left in the world at the moment were the lights of the city and Squinn's eyes twinkling through the darkness and his waves curling around his jaw line and shoulders like the sweeping serenade of love in Squidward's rapidly beating heart. _You love him, Squidward. You're in love with him. _

Squidward looked at Squinn with so many feelings spiraling within him, he wasn't sure what to say. All he knew was that this moment granted more affection in his heart than any other point in his life and he didn't want it to end. Squidward liked feeling. Squidward eagerly looked forward to Squinn's new perspectives that opened his isolated heart to natural feelings once buried beneath bitterness. He didn't want to let that go. He never wanted to leave Squinn's side if it meant losing that soul-touching ecstacy. He finally felt real.

"I have a lot of stars," Squidward concluded, "some are stars I won't reach for a while. Some stars I've already started reaching for with success."

"When will you reach them?"

"I'm not sure," Squidward replied. His mind flashed to every rom-com movie and story telling him to make a move, but his insecurities and nervousness forbade him from acting out in such a way. These were thoughts that needed to stay internal for the moment. "I've only been reaching out recently."

Squinn nodded, contemplating the words carefully. He pulled the blanket closer to his body, the breeze starting to nip at his skin. "I see."

Squidward took note of the breeze's bite and decided he would attempt to make some sort of move without giving away his full desires. His stars felt so close, he couldn't risk them slipping through his grasp.

"It's getting a bit chilly out here," Squidward commented.

Squinn took this statement as a polite beginning of goodbyes. "I can lend you a jacket for your ride home."

Squidward took in a deep breath, trying to ignore his racing heart and the thoughts churning through his mind as he stepped up to voice what he wanted.

"It may be easier if I stayed the night. It's too chilly to ride all the way home." Squidward noticed Squinn perk up inquisitively and he quickly added, "Only if you're available, of course."

The moment of silence between them felt like an eternity to Squidward. He bit his lip, anxious for Squinn's response. Squinn chuckled and looked at Squidward with an affection warm enough to melt Squidward in his very spot.

"I'm always available. Let's head inside, then."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

Squidward followed Squinn inside, Squinn finally declaring it too cold to sit on the terrace anymore. Squidward pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he shut the glass door.

"How does Netflix sound?" Squinn asked as he sat on the couch and motioned for Squidward to sit next to him.

Squidward nodded and took the invitation, sitting closer to Squinn than usual without being close enough to raise suspicions. It occured to Squidward that the pair had never made physical contact with one another, and with his romantic desires realized, he would even settle for a slight graze of the tentacle. He watched Squinn flip through the television shows before Squinn stopped and looked at him.

"Have you seen _The Oarfish_?"

"No," Squidward admitted, "I've been told to watch it."

Predictably, Squinn erupted with the usual "Really"s and "You HAVE to see it"s that Squidward's peers often gave him. With more of his focus on art and music, the only television he watched were the occasional music show, house tours, and _As the Tide Turns_ episodes. Squidward also found that he didn't tend to watch popular shows out of sheer avoidance of mediocrity. Watching, reading, and listening to only the popular things, in Squidward's mind, ultimately made sea creatures dull and uncultured. It took a truly artistic and educated mind to enjoy things he did like clarinet playing, painting, reading Romantic poets; while he did indulge in the more modern things like pop music and common television, he only did it in moderation to keep his educated nature spread to multiple areas. He needed to be a master of every subject, a cultured squid who only dabbled in common things and had an unquenchable thirst for classic media; hence, he had never seen _The Oarfish. _Squidward believed Squinn to be almost as cultured as him, so to hear that Squinn watched _The Oarfish _came to be a mild shock. _I knew he enjoyed pop music, _Squidward understood, _but I didn't know he enjoyed such common sitcoms. _

"We should watch it...if you'd like," Squinn quickly added, "it's hilarious."

"What is it about?"

"It's a sitcom about coworkers at Dunder Marina and their office is managed by Michael Shoal. It's amazing, seriously, how haven't you watched it?" Squinn laughed.

Squidward shrugged and Squinn nestled into the couch more, wrapping his blanket around him tighter. Squidward watched from the corner of his eyes and his hope to even graze Squinn's skin faded.

"Let's try it and see if you like it," Squinn said as he turned it on.

Squidward couldn't believe he liked the show. They finished an episode and Squidward immediately asked to watch the next one, then another, then another. He couldn't believe how much he chuckled at the dry humor and found himself immersed in a show he believed to be too trivial to watch on his own. Squidward liking mainstream things was a rarity; yes, he admitted to playing the pop station, but it didn't consume his listening habits. He reflected on every sea creature that recommended the show and every time he rolled his eyes at the seemingly stupid suggestion, and as he laughed at every joke, the twinge of guilt tugged at his chest.

During the second episode, Squinn prepared a bowl of popcorn to place between he and Squidward. Squidward noted this gesture to fall into the same cliches the music usually did, but with every preconception and expectation already trampled on, another stereotype couldn't hurt. As the episodes continued, the squids became more relaxed, moving closer to one another to share the popcorn and reclining on the cushions against their backs. Squidward paid particular attention to Jim and Pam's budding relationship and the anxiety started to set in; _Is that how I look with Squinn? _He noticed how close they were, Jim's romantic feelings obvious through their awkward pauses and the way they looked at one another. Squidward thought back to gazing at Squinn on the terrace and wondered if the same look in Jim's eyes was in his own. If Squinn didn't notice Squidward's true feelings soon enough, he may be as clueless as Pam.

Squidward kept his eyes fixed on the TV as he reached for more popcorn, but when his tentacle went into the bowl, it was met with an unexpected feeling. He glanced at the bowl and realized his tentacle was touching Squinn's in the bowl and both squids looked at one another before pulling themselves away quickly.

"S-sorry," Squinn stuttered, the color rising in his face.

"N-no, my bad, sorry," Squidward mumbled. The complexion of his cheeks flushed the same scarlet of Squinn's. His eyes averted back to the show but the event still burned in his mind. Squidward finally felt the touch he longed for and he immediately wanted more. The slight graze of their tentacles caused a spark to course through Squidward and it occurred to him that not only had he never touched Squinn before, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched at all. Even the smallest touch felt nice, but Squidward suddenly wanted more.

As the episodes went on, Squidward readjusted himself and used each opportunity to move just a little closer to Squinn; it seemed like Squinn was getting closer than Squidward anticipated with each move, but it was impossible to tell if Squinn was actually moving closer. The empty bowl was the only thing that separated them at this point, each squid pushed up against the obstacle on the couch.

"Do you want me to move this bowl?" Squinn asked.

Squidward hesitated before speaking. "I don't mind, whatever you'd like."

"It's digging into my hip. I'll move it, if that's alright."

"Okay."

Squinn moved the bowl and at last, the only obstacle between them was gone. Afraid of making his friend uncomfortable, Squidward refrained from inching towards Squinn any more, his anxieties still convincing him that he'd ruin the friendship if he made his romantic feelings emerge too soon and too strongly. After two hours of the show, Squidward felt his eyelids getting heavy as he started to zone out, the words of the characters becoming easily forgotten as his mind felt more clouded; it was only the abrupt pressing against his arm that made his attention jolt back to the room.

Squinn leaned against Squidward and stared at him. Squidward's body shivered with excitement at the long-lasting touch against him and his eyes darted to Squinn's smile.

"You seemed a little unsteady," Squinn said, "I was nervous you'd fall over. Do you want to go to bed?"

"No, no, I'm alright," Squidward shot back. He wanted to keep the moment going forever without giving Squinn the chance to break away from the physical contact.

Squinn yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm actually getting quite tired."

Squidward yearned to keep Squinn awake with him to prolong the warm touch between them, but he knew he couldn't keep Squinn awake forever. "We can go to bed, then," Squidward nodded.

Squinn flicked the TV off and stretched as he rose from the couch. He fetched a pillow from his queen-sized bed and offered it to Squidward before making his way towards the bathroom and closet area of the apartment near the main doorway. He disappeared behind the doors, yet his voice was still clearly audible.

"Do you want pajamas?" Squinn called out.

"No, it's alright," Squidward called back.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Alright," Squinn said as he rounded the corner, "let me know if you change your mind."

Squinn glided around the apartment in his baby-blue night shirt, turning all the lights and appliances off in his quick round of the room. Squidward kept his eyes on his friend as Squinn twirled around the room, then settled into bed.

"Goodnight, Squidward."

"Goodnight, Squinn."

Squidward turned to face the window and let out a long sigh. A multitude of feelings stirred within him as he stared out the window, the moonlight dimly illuminating the room with its blue hue. He felt guilty for putting down _The Oarfish_, especially when he thought of Squinn watching it on his own; so often he assumed that the all-too-common comments about needing to watch it meant that the humor would be as tasteless as everyone else in Bikini Bottom. Thinking about Squinn enjoying the show made Squidward's heart feel as if it were being wrung out. He wondered how many other things he looked down on that Squinn secretly liked, and while Squidward wished he could resolve to not jumping to those conclusions, he knew all too well that these prejudices were so ingrained in his mind, they couldn't be broken down. He was an artist, a squid of many talents and knowledges of different subject areas, someone who didn't enjoy common things like common creatures did; yet as of late, this artist mindset held him back from expressing his true feelings.

The artist mindset convinced him that his suffering and loneliness were all parts of the plight he much reach to achieve success. The more he suffered, the more lonely he felt, the better his art would be, the more his art would express such deep seated emotions of turmoil and solitude that sea creatures from around the globe would remember it as a "true reflection of the mind and soul".

Squidward knew deep down in his heart that he didn't deserve to be miserable. He didn't enjoy feeling like his suffering was inevitable, that his misery would give his art the emotional depth it needed to succeed. _Artists don't have to torture themselves to be good, _he remembered, _look at Squinn, that's not what he does. You can't spend every night in the same house in the same bed or every day at the same job in the same solitude; you need friends. _Squidward didn't realize how truly alone and isolated he was until he felt Squinn's touch; he couldn't remember any recent instance he had been touched. He forgot what it felt like to be in company like Squinn's, what it felt like to be given the affection he lacked for so long. The mounting feelings of loneliness hit him when he felt Squinn against his arm and he realized he missed being so close to someone physically and mentally. Squidward felt himself changing at a rapid rate. It was only a few weeks ago that he had no friends and no joy and here he was spending the night at his best friend's apartment thinking about how nice it was to be touched and how quickly his love shifted from platonic to romantic. He never loved anyone before and especially not a boy. Squidward's head spun as he fell asleep, a million emotions of confusion and anxiety stirring within him.

Squidward woke up to Squinn's tentacle gently nudging his shoulder. Squidward kept his eyes closed knowing that open eyes meant Squinn would stop touching him. He let Squinn gently rock his body for a few more seconds before he opened his eyes. Squinn stood in front of him in his usual navy sweater vest and white collared shirt, and as Squidward yawned and sat up, he realized Squinn had a plate in tentacle.

"I didn't think you would ever wake up," he chuckled, setting the plate in Squidward's lap, "I made breakfast."

Squidward groggily looked down at the plate of eggs, toast, and fruit in his lap and smiled. Squinn scooped up the pillow and blanket from the couch and put everything back where it belonged as Squidward began picking at breakfast. Breakfast even seemed to taste better at the apartment. He didn't want to go home and spend the day in his dreary Moai wishing the amount of sunlight in Squinn's apartment would infiltrate his own windows.

"Why is everything better here?" Squidward mumbled as he popped a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

"What?" Squinn asked, turning to him, "I couldn't hear you."

Squidward's face reddened slightly with embarrassment, but he knew it was for naught. _I asked to spend the night, for Poseidon's sake, _he thought, _I'm sure Squinn knows I'm lonely. _

"Why does everything taste better here?"

Squinn tilted his head and his eyes lingered on Squidward's. "I don't know. It does?"

"Everything is better," Squidward nodded. He took another bite of food and kept his eyes on his plate. "The food, TV, music, the city, everything."

Squinn paused before speaking again. "It feels different when you're here, too," he said slowly.

Squidward's head shot up to look at Squinn. Squinn stood near his bed, pausing in the bed making process to look at Squidward. It was moments like these that Squidward swore Squinn knew about his true feelings. This, asking Squidward what his star was, it all seemed to insinuate that Squinn shared the sentimental feelings. If Squidward were more assertive when it came to expressing emotions, he would have asked Squinn if that's the way he felt. After having a best friend that broke him from his solitude, Squidward didn't want to risk ruining their relationship. He resolved to wait for more pressing signs of love before he addressed it.

"Perspective, I guess, huh?" Squinn asked quietly, slowly pulling the sheet over the mattress, "things seem different when someone else is there."

"You make it sound like you're not used to someone being there," Squidward noted.

"I'm not used to that, no."

This sentence tied Squidward's tongue. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Squinn never talked about any other friends. A few names came up in conversation, but Squinn never described outings with his friends or things he'd done with them. Squidward figured Squinn may be as lonely as he was.

"I'm not, either," Squidward spoke slowly, enunciating each word, "I find myself lonely at times."

"I do, too," Squinn replied.

Squidward gulped and felt a surge of courage pump through him. In situations where Squinn's speech faltered, Squidward felt random gusts of courage that propelled him to say things to Squinn he would normally keep to himself. It reminded him of the way Squinn would be so awkward but somehow manage to smoothly make an excuse to see Squidward again.

"Well," Squidward said as he took in another mouthful of food, "I'm always available if seeing me helps you not feel lonely."

Squinn's grin curled his lips and he pulled the blanket over the sheet, smoothing out the creases. "I'd like that. The same goes to you, Squidward."

Hearing Squinn say his name made Squidward even more reluctant to leave the apartment. He would have asked to stay longer if Squinn didn't have to finish his Pacific article. Squidward finished his breakfast and brought the plate to the sink, Squinn insisting he would wash the dishes and Squidward didn't have to help. Squinn lent Squidward his toothbrush and as Squidward stared at his reflection in the mirror, his mind became consumed with love. He never considered his sexuality before and still couldn't believe he had fallen in love with Squinn. Squidward was convinced his feelings were romantic, but he didn't know how to bring those feelings to fruition without scaring Squinn. _What if he isn't gay and he doesn't want to be my friend anymore?,_ Squidward wondered as he brushed his teeth. _What if things happen between us and I realize I'm not gay? What am I going to do?_ These feelings continued clouding his mind as he gathered his things, bade Squinn goodbye, and reluctantly walked out the door. He didn't have many sea creatures he could ask for advice, but he knew one creature whose intellect passed his in some respects. He knew if he asked her about his emotions, she may be able to use her knowledge on psychology to help him. Squidward decided to consult Sandy.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

The only reason Squidward had Sandy's phone number was from a group chat. He had the misfortune of being added to a group chat by Spongebob, and while he almost immediately deleted the chat, he made sure to save the numbers he didn't have. He didn't know if they would ever come in handy, but now, staring at his phone, he was glad he did.

Him: _Hey Sandy, it's Squidward. Are you busy?_

Sandy: _No, why?_

Him: _Do you mind if I come over? Need advice. _

Sandy: _Sure! See you soon._

Squidward felt thankful as he rode his bike to her treedome, yet the sweat dripped from his forehead with the anticipation. He knew asking Spongebob would exhaust him and the last thing he wanted to hear was a lecture about love from the most annoying sponge in the sea. He opted for an intellectual counterpart, someone who could give him the basic psychology he needed to understand how Squinn may react to his possible advances. Squidward had nowhere else to go, no one else to talk to; talking to Sandy couldn't hurt.

He arrived to the treedome and wheeled his bike into the doorway chamber, adorning the water-filled bowl for his head as the water began draining. The water pooled around his tentacles before disappearing in a drain, and as the water disappeared, the wheel-styled door handle began to spin. The heavy door swung open with a forceful push from the squirrel on the other side.

"Howdy, Squidward," Sandy smiled humbly at Squidward. She appeared the same as usual, her violet bikini top matching the frilled skirt that flowed from her hips. Her cheeks had a slight blush to them as she smiled at Squidward.

"Hi, Sandy, thank you for letting me come over on such short notice," he said as he stepped inside. He left his bike in the doorway chamber and Sandy shut the door behind him.

"Oh shucks, it's no problem, Squidward," she babbled as she led him to the picnic table, "when I saw your text, I wasn't sure what it would be about, so I made Texas sweet tea."

She motioned for him to sit and handed him a glass of sweet tea with a deep blue straw. Squidward wrestled the straw through the bottom of his helmet and sipped on it, his eye twitching slightly from the unexpected sweetness. Sandy eagerly sipped her tea and leaned forward, staring at Squidward.

"Well, what didja want to talk about?" she asked.

Squidward set the tea down and sighed. "I don't, uh, really have anyone else to talk to about it," he stammered, "but I need advice."

"Advice?"

Squidward moved his tentacle up to rub the back of his neck, but it smacked the back of the helmet and he awkwardly put his arm down. "Y-yeah. You're intelligent, I thought you could offer insight in the, uhm...psychology department."

"Okay," Sandy nodded eagerly, "what's your question?"

Squidward's leg bounced quickly as he shifted in place. "If I explain how I feel about someone to you, can you tell me what it means?"

Sandy nodded, leaning in even further to show Squidward her investment in the situation. "Well go on, tell me!"

"There's this sea creature who seems almost...too perfect to be real," he said. "We share similar hobbies and interests. We spend a lot of time together and this morning, I was there, and I didn't want to leave, and-"

"You spent the night?" Sandy interrupted.

Squidward gulped. "Yeah."

Sandy leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. "Okay, continue."

"I didn't want to leave this morning," Squidward continued, "my house doesn't feel as comfortable anymore. I really…"

Squidward paused for a second and took in a deep breath. He felt embarrassed to share his feelings, embarrassed to admit what he was about to admit, but he felt as if he had no choice. "I really admire them. I feel like my stomach flutters and it gets harder to breathe when I'm around them. I think I know why I feel this way, but I don't know if I feel this way because I like them or because I haven't had a close friend in so long. I need to know what it sounds like to someone outside of the situation."

They were both silent for a moment and Sandy took the minute to think while Squidward felt the sweat mingling with the water in his helmet. He couldn't surmise what conclusions she was coming to, but when she finally leaned towards him and smiled, the unease continued bubbling within him.

She partially concealed her smile with her hands as her chin rested on the base of her palms, her fingers curling up near her widening smile. "Shoot, you have a crush on him, don't you?"

He felt as if he were screaming but knew his lips were too tightly knit to let any sound out. _She knows,_ Squidward's mind raced, _she said 'he',_ _how did she know it's a boy? She knows, she knows who it is, how does she know who it is?_

"I-is that what it is?" Squidward stammered.

"Yes, that's what it is," Sandy laughed, "it's about darn time!"

Squidward tilted his head with slight confusion, his eyes desperately searching her facial expression for a hint. _About time? _"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, shucks, Squidward, everyone's been waitin' for one of y'all to confess your feelings," Sandy giggled.

"I don't think I know who you're referring to."

"Spongebob, of course!"

Squidward instinctively slammed a tentacle to his chest and coughed, beginning to choke on his water. "No, no, no no no," he sputtered with heaving gasps, "Not Spongebob, no."

Sandy opened her mouth as if she was going to reply, but her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door and the echo of giggling.

_I know those laughs, _Squidward groaned as the door opened. Spongebob and Patrick entered the treedome with their helmets, waving at Sandy and Squidward energetically.

"Hi, Sandy! Hi, Squidward!" Spongebob chirped as the pair came closer to the picnic table.

"Spongebob, Patrick, what are y'all doing here?" Sandy asked.

"We were in the neighborhood and wanted to see what you were doing," Spongebob grinned, "but Patrick and I saw you two telling secrets and we wanted to share secrets, too!"

"That's not-" Squidward began, but his trail of thought was interrupted as Spongebob sat next to him and pushed Squidward further down the bench. Patrick sat next to Spongebob so Squidward teetered on the edge of the wooden seat.

"Squidward, I want to hear your secret!" Spongebob declared, nudging Squidward with his elbow.

"Me too!" Patrick chimed in.

"He wasn't telling secrets," Sandy smiled warmly, "he was askin' for advice."

Spongebob fell quiet for a moment before making his signature facial expression, his eyes and eyebrows raised at Squidward with an all-knowing eye.

"It's about that sea creature you met, isn't it?" Spongebob murmured, "the one you wouldn't tell me about."

"No...maybe…" Squidward sighed. He rested his elbows on the table and let his head fall into his suction cups, knowing it was no use trying to hide it. Spongebob would find out whether he liked it or not.

Spongebob gasped and started bouncing in place, turning to Sandy with elation. "Sandy, Sandy, what did he tell you? I want to know who she is!"

"Or _he_ is," Patrick added as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He gazed into the screen, mesmerized by whatever app he had open.

"Oh, I don't know if he wants me to-" Sandy started.

"Just tell him, it doesn't matter," Squidward groaned with his head still lowered, "he was bound to find out eventually.

"Well," Sandy said, "he thinks he's in love with this creature, but he's not sure."

"What's not to be sure about, Squidward?" Spongebob bubbled with excitement, "I'm sure they love you, too! Who _wouldn't _love you?"

The notion of Squinn loving him made Squidward's face flush crimson. He lifted his head but kept his eyes on the table, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.

"I'll get y'all some more tea," Sandy said, standing up from the picnic table. She went towards her tree house and disappeared behind the wooden door, leaving Spongebob and Patrick to question Squidward.

"What's not to be sure about, Squidward?" Spongebob chirped, leaning closer to Squidward. Squidward's embarrassment engulfed him to the point of feeling paralyzed, unable to move farther away from his obnoxious neighbor.

Squidward would never normally share his feelings with anyone, especially not Spongebob, but he felt a separation between his usual self and the squid that sat at the picnic table with his acquaintances. He sighed yet again, realizing there was no escaping the sponge's pervasive questions.

Squidward tilted his head down and rubbed his eyes to avoid looking at his neighbors for the words about to escape his mouth. "I don't know if they...uh...like males."

"Why?" the sponge pestered.

Squidward gulped. "...Because...he hasn't told me his sexual orientation."

For the first time, Spongebob didn't say anything. This startled Squidward and after a moment of agonizing silence past, he looked up to see Spongebob and Patrick staring at him. Squidward began to sweat, panicking as he realizing what he had just dropped into the conversation.

Before he could scramble to say anything else, Spongebob put a hand on Squidward's shoulder. Squidward held his breath.

"I didn't know you were gay, Squidward," he beamed, "that's great! Like I said, who _wouldn't _like you? Why don't you ask him?"

Squidward's brain churned a million miles a second as a multitude of thoughts cascaded through his mind. He didn't know what caught him off guard the most, the fact that no questions were asked or Spongebob was actually putting aside his usual annoying antics to be helpful.

"I don't know how to ask," Squidward said, "how am I supposed to ask? The only relationships I know or have experienced are those in _As the Tide Turns _and whatever romance novels I've come across."

"Just be you," Patrick's voice cut in.

Both Spongebob and Squidward turned to the starfish absorbed in his phone.

"What did you say?" Squidward asked.

Patrick broke his gaze from the screen and looked up at the two neighbors. "Just be you. That's what I do, and everyone likes me!"

Squidward resisted the urge to make a disparaging comment. While the comedic payout would be great, this was a rare moment in which his annoying acquaintances were actually helping him. He didn't want to jeopardize what he had. At this point, Sandy had returned to the table with more sweet tea. She sat down and passed out drinks to everyone, and when she nodded at Patrick, Squidward knew she heard the last snippet of discussion.

"When are you going to see them again?" Sandy asked.

Squidward shrugged. "We usually spend weekends together, sometimes we see each other during the week."

"Then make a move!" Spongebob exclaimed.

"How would I do that?"

"Just be you," Patrick repeated.

Realizing he'd hit a dead end, Squidward stood up. "I think I'm going to go home now. Thank you for tea, Sandy."

Spongebob jumped up from the picnic bench and reached out to grab Squidward's tentacle. "We can go back with you!"

"No, no," Squidward yanked his arm away, "I'll go alone."

Squidward bid goodbye to the group and left his helmet in the chamber between the tree dome and door before riding off. Squinn's apartment lingered in his mind, making Squidward's own home seem barren in comparison. Squidward opted to ride around the area to avoid going home. He took the alone time to process his thoughts.

Any other time, being himself was Squidward's strong suit. His artistic and musical talents were unmatched, his interests and personality so dignified and cultured, rounding him into the most personal, interesting creature. It seemed perfect in theory, but when it came to dating, that's where Squidward fell short. The idea of coming out to Squinn and saying he liked him gave Squidward chills. He couldn't stop asking himself _What if he's not gay? What if it makes him uncomfortable? _He tried to analyze all the possible signs of Squinn being interested in him, but Squidward's ignorance got the best of him. He hated admitting that he might be ignorant, but he knew very well that when it came to assessing romance vs. friendship, his lack of experience in both made him susceptible to incorrect judgements.

_There's been so many times he's touched me or hinted that he wanted me around, _Squidward thought, pedaling harder as he reached a hill, _but he asked me to go home today so he could work. He hasn't made any sort of move yet. _Squidward knew there wasn't really a classy way to ask Squinn about his sexual orientation and his mind drew a blank at any way he could organically introduce romance into a conversation. He felt trapped, stuck between romance and friendship, personality and anxiety, making a move and letting it go. His worst fear would be losing Squinn because he was uncomfortable with Squidward's advances; Squidward couldn't remember another time he had such a close friend, and the thought of jeopardizing it because of some flighty crush crushed his heart. If he dared attempt to make a move, it would have to be subtle, smoothly introduced into the conversation. He just didn't know how.

Even before that, Squidward kept repeating to myself, _Am I gay? I guess I'm gay. I'm gay? _The thought never dawned on him before: he'd never considered his sexuality so deeply. He didn't care for many sea creatures at all, but anyone who could develop such an intimate relationship with became the center of his attention. Sure, a few female squids had passed by and he'd give them a passing thought of 'she's cute', but nothing beyond that. This was the first time Squidward felt himself falling so deeply in love with someone, and at that point, the squids were such close friends, any barriers of sex and gender fell apart. _It doesn't matter how they look or what they identify as, as long as we can have that close relationship,_ Squidward concluded, _I've been searching for that all my life. Squinn being male doesn't phase me. He's all I want. _

It tumbled through his thoughts endlessly, _He's all I want._ Squidward realized he longed for his companion to become something more because their relationship was so close, Squidward couldn't imagine trying to establish that with another sea creature. No one else seemed as bright, cultured, intelligent, interesting, cute, eye opening, inspiring; the list went on. _I need him. I need to figure out how to make a move. I need him. _

Squidward realized he had biked to the public park. He pedaled towards an empty yellow bench and dismounted the bike, propping it against the bench as he sat down. He looked around at the other bikers, pet walkers, children, every last fish that could be in the park. Squidward felt like a bother, but he couldn't stop himself from pulling out his phone and texting Squinn. Two hours had passed since he left the apartment.

Him: _How is everything going?_

S: _Well, thanks. Nearly done with my article. How are you?_

Him: _Fine_

S: _That's good. Are you home?_

Him: _No. Home hasn't felt like home lately. _

S: _I'm sorry. _

Him: _It's alright. _

S: _Do you want to come back later?_

Squidward realized his previous text about home came off quite desperate and his embarrassment manifested both in the blush of his cheeks and the quickness of his typing.

Him: _I don't want to impose it's okay I have to go home at some point don't worry_

S: _I don't mind. The apartment does feel different when you're not here...you also said you would return if I were lonely. _

Him: _I did. _

S: _I'll be lonely at 6. So lonely that I'll have two cups of herbal tea ready. _

Him: _Sounds good. See you then_

He kept his composure in text, but in reality, Squidward could barely contain his desire to jump up and shout with glee. Oh, the charm made Squidward blush even more, but the _last two messages? The apartment feels different? I'll be lonely? Come back? _Squidward felt the flutters in his stomach would jump out of him if he couldn't contain himself. He decided he would bike home and clean himself up, grabbing a bite and composing himself before he went to Squinn's.

As Squidward raced home, he contemplated how he might try to make a move or make a slight mention of relationships to guide the conversation in a favorable direction. He knew thinking about it and acting on it were two completely different things, but he held out hope that he would be able to stifle the nervousness enough to get things moving or, at the very least, find out if Squinn liked men. Riding home, the cheesy pop songs echoed in his ears as the wind brushed his face. The elation he felt was like no other, and the farther their relationship developed, the happier and lighter Squidward felt. He didn't want to imagine another day feeling as melancholy and grey as Bikini Bottom. _I need him,_ Squidward muttered to himself the entire way home, _I need him, he's all I want. I don't know how I'll make a move, but I have to do something. I can't lose him; I can't lose this. _


	10. The Moment You've All Been Waiting For

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested. **

6pm couldn't come soon enough. Squidward raced back to Squinn's as quick as his legs would take him, and when he finally arrived at the building, he needed a minute outside to catch his breath. As he made his way into the building and up the elevator, he tried to reiterate the plan loosely strung together in his head. _Okay, Squidward, you got this. You casually try to bring up relationships and coax him into spilling his sexuality, then you get him to talk about any crushes he has and if he has one, it has to be you. You make a move, you get the squid, that's it, you did it. You got this. You got this. _

Squidward reached the apartment door and knocked. Squinn answered and smiled, warmly greeting and inviting Squidward inside. As always, he wheeled the bike inside and leaned it against the wall as Squidward shut the door. Surprisingly, the usual dress pattern of white collared shirt and sweater vest was broken; now the handsome squid donned the simple white shirt. His hair fell in waves, the locks held out of his eyes from the thick frames of the glasses. Squidward wished he could tell his counterpart that he looked good, but out of fear of startling his friend, he kept silent. Squinn led Squidward to the window where they often sat to eat; as promised, two cups of herbal tea sat waiting.

"How did your article go?" Squidward asked as he took a sip of tea.

"Well, it went well, as usual," Squinn nodded quickly, "thank you for coming back. I'm sorry that you didn't want to go home."

Squidward anxiously swirled his tea bag in the mug, watching the pigment from the herbs seep into the water. Squinn never dismissed his work so easily, leading Squidward to believe that discussing the article was the last thing on Squinn's mind. He couldn't understand why; Squidward's text wasn't necessarily urgent.

"It's alright, don't worry," Squidward reassured.

"What did you do today?"

"I went to another friend's house and spent time with her and a few others. I rode my bike for a while and then went home to clean myself up."

Squinn stared out the window, focusing on the fish scurrying around town. Squidward's last sentence made him smile and tilt his head quizzically. "I've never heard you talk about other friends. You have friends?"

Squidward chuckled. "I guess so. I went to her for advice. She's one of the only intelligent creatures I know, so I wanted her opinion."

Squinn coughed and quickly set his china on the table, creating the loud sound of clanging dishes that rattled in Squidward's ears. Puzzled, Squidward studied his friend as Squinn blushed and tried to avert his gaze from Squidward. An awkward moment of silence fell over them before Squinn quietly echoed "Who is she?"

"Sandy cheeks? I'm sure you're familiar with her. She's the only land creature in Bikini Bottom and a renowned scientist."

Squinn nodded, still fixated on the city below them. "Why haven't you ever brought her up before?"

"Oh," Squidward cleared his throat, "we're not very close, I don't see or speak to her often...You're my closest friend, honestly."

This comment made Squinn's eyes dart towards Squidward once more. Squidward turned his head slightly to make the reddening of his cheeks unnoticeable as Squinn spoke again.

"I am?"

Squidward chuckled and nodded. "Of course. Like you said before, you've never heard me discuss friends before. I don't have many, and the acquaintances I do have, I barely speak to."

Squinn tilted his head once more, bringing a tentacle up to his lips to almost mask his smile. He stood up, leaving his empty cup on the counter as he moved to the couch. "We should look at stars tonight...if you can stay until after sunset, that is," Squinn added hurriedly.

"I can."

Squinn smiled slyly. "Shall we watch a few more episodes of _The Oarfish_?"

Squidward laughed and made his way to the couch, sitting a popcorn-bowl distance away from his friend. Squinn turned the show on and Squidward, once more, felt a twinge of guilt for liking the show as much as he did. As the episodes played, Squidward studied the way Jim and Pam interacting, all the while wondering if that's the way he looked spending time with Squinn. He eagerly awaited the day the friends would finally be together and every thought he had of Jim and Pam, he translated to the dream relationship he was mentally forming with Squinn. Finally allowing himself to accept his feelings gave Squidward both the solace and curse of expression; he couldn't yet express himself outwardly, but he could allow his mind to wander and, for a split second, imagine he and his best friend holding tentacles or cuddling up to one another on the couch. The sun outside began to set, the deep orange and pink hues of the sky casting itself across the cherry wood floorboards of the apartment. Squidward snuck glances at Squinn admiring the TV, all the while analyzing how the warm light lit up his friend's face with a rosy hue. Squidward wished he possessed the boldness to just reach out and grab his friend's tentacle before kissing him, but he knew any advances required much more grace and eloquence. It wouldn't be that easy.

Towards the end of the fifth episode of the season, Squidward realized the sun finally set. As the credits rolled, Squinn paused the TV and stood from the couch, stretching his limbs. Squidward stood and did the same while Squinn fetched a blanket for both he and his friend. With a gesture towards the window, Squidward led the way to the balcony. Per usual, the city lights glowed warmly in the background of the scenery, but the main attraction was the vast amount of stars piercing the deep blue veil of sky. The scenery somehow managed to take Squidward's breath away each time he saw it and he tilted his head back to take in more stars, pulling the blanket as close to his body as possible. He sighed deeply.

"I always love looking at the stars," Squidward grinned, "it's truly an artistic inspiration. It's one of the most beautiful aspects of Bikini Bottom."

"I'm glad you enjoy it," Squinn replied, "but I can never help noticing that this is one of the only positive compliments you pay Bikini Bottom." Squinn leaned up against the wall, his head also tilted up to the sky. Squidward leaned back as well and turned his head to Squinn, finding that Squinn's eyes had locked to him long before.

"Bikini Bottom isn't interesting to me. There's no one here that interests or challenges me artistically, musically, intellectually. I've never found anyone who has enjoyed art, music, and literature at the same degree I do...it's isolating."

Squinn nodded. "I know you struggle working at the Krusty Krab because of that. I definitely understand that, possibly more than you realize."

The boys paused for a minute, falling silent before Squinn added, "Meeting you has changed that isolating feeling for me."

Squidward wished he could stifle the rosiness rising to his cheeks, but he hoped the darkness of the sky would help mask his embarrassment. "You really mean that?"

"Of course," Squinn declared, "like I've said before, I'm not used to having anyone around. Home feels empty without anyone else in it. Acquaintances can be hard to find if you can't find anyone who explores similar interests and passions as yourself. It's isolating, it's lonely, it's downright discouraging. I always felt trapped in here and my work. I love everything I do, but that was all I had before I made a friend."

Squidward felt himself at a loss for words, only able to close his nearly gaping mouth. His heart beat with such ferocity, he couldn't believe Squinn couldn't hear it. Squinn turned his head back towards the sky and Squidward took the cue to do the same.

Squinn laughed to himself once again. "I guess finding someone to be with romantically would also alleviate that issue. That would give someone the potential of always having a live-in friend."

_This is it, _Squidward's mind raced, _be cool, don't let anything weird or too revealing slip out of your mouth, this could be your chance. Just relax. Be cool. _"That's true," he answered simply.

"Like that'll ever happen," Squinn mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They continued to study the stars speckling the vast void above them. Squidward longed for the courage and boldness it took to make a move, but the insecurities of sexuality and possibly losing a friend plagued him into staying silent. He swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing that he could lead the conversation a particular way so all he had to do was hint that someone may like Squinn.

"What did you say?" Squidward asked once more.

Squinn sighed. "Like that will ever happen," he repeated.

"Why do you say that?"

Squinn looked at Squidward with a raised eyebrow. "Look at me, Squidward, I write psychology articles for _The Pacific_. I teach cello. Have you noticed how thick the frames on my glasses are? I'm definitely not the most exciting or physically appealing squid in Bikini Bottom."

Squidward shrugged. "I'm sure someone out there enjoys that in a partner."

Squinn shrugged in unison and his eyes flickered across Squidward's face before he pulled the blanket closer to his body and looked down at the ground.

"I'm also not the best at analyzing social cues," Squinn added, "you may assume I am, considering I write psychology articles. I can analyze any other situation for any other fish, but when it comes to myself or romantic endeavors, signs and indicators that fish normally pick up on typically go over my head completely."

Squidward found himself nodding vigorously. "I completely understand and relate to that...if you'd like me to be perfectly honest, I have no dating experience." He took the opportunity to crack a joke, "In similar fashion to yourself, I'm bald and very absorbed in my work. I know I can be a catch, but noticing someone's interest in me is something my wide array of skills does not cover."

Both squids laughed and Squinn shifted in his spot, adjusting himself against the wall. Readjusting allowed him to scoot slightly closer to Squidward. Squinn kept his eyes down at his tentacles as he writhed them in circular motions. "I'm sure someone out there enjoys that in a partner," he echoed.

Squidward shrugged, leaning back more so he could support his body with both his arms. His suction cups stuck to the ground on either side of him. "I'm not actively searching for it. I think when that sea creature comes, I'll know. I have no dating experience, remember?"

"I have experience," Squinn recalled, "it was with a fish I met a few years ago in college. It only lasted a few months. It wasn't anything special. They weren't what I was looking for."

Squidward cleared his throat, shifting in his spot anxiously. "What are you looking for?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly.

Squinn spoke each word slowly, very aware of the way he articulated each phrase. "I'm looking for someone who shares common interests, hobbies, aspirations, humor, culture, and values. I just want someone to enjoy life with, someone who encourages me to love what I do and love others while doing it. I wouldn't say it's much criteria, but," he chuckled, "I haven't been lucky yet."

"I don't think that's too much to ask."

Their eyes locked onto one another. "I don't think so, either," Squinn said.

Squidward's throat felt as if it were closing as he carefully analyzed the expression on Squinn's face. The flutter of his stomach, the tightness of his chest, the inability to produce any words rendered him practically useless. All he could do was look at Squinn's face, the soft moonlight illuminating his features. He desperately wished he could make a move, but the thought of losing a friend was too great.

Squidward realized he'd been staring at Squinn too long and began shifting positions, adjusting his blanket to cover himself once more. Squinn did the same, both squids sheepishly looking away as they made themselves comfortable. Squidward took his previous position with a tentacle on either side of him and Squinn picked a place to sit, leaning back on the wall with his head up to the sky. Squidward tried to focus on the stars once more, but his thoughts were interrupted as he felt a warm touch to his tentacle.

He looked down and realized Squinn's tentacle rested on top of his. Squinn realized what he'd done and quickly pulled it away. "Sorry, sorry," he sputtered, "I was readjusting, I didn't see your tentacle there, I'm sorry."

"I-it's okay, don't worry," Squidward reassured.

Squinn rubbed the tentacle that touched Squidward and burrowed himself deeper in his blanket, making it almost impossible to see his face. "So," he cleared his throat, "even if you found someone to call a partner, if they liked you, you don't think you would recognize their clues."

"I assume not," Squidward spoke hurriedly. He forced the words out of his throat to the best of his ability, feeling as if his throat were closing from the anxiety of trying to keep his feelings inside.

Squidward's eyes lingered on Squinn, but when Squinn did not stir from beneath the blanket, he averted his eyes to the city lights slowly dwindling beneath them. On a Sunday night, businesses closed early, contributing to the early snuff of city lights on the street. Staring at the buildings beneath them, Squidward didn't notice Squinn's tentacle slowly snaking towards his. Their tentacles gently touched one more time, but this time, Squinn's didn't pull away. Upon the touch, Squidward's heart beat so sharply, he instinctively jolted.

Squinn recoiled. "I'm sorry, that was out of line, I shouldn't have," he choked, "I'm sorry, I know I'm making you uncomfortable, I'm-"

"You're not," Squidward spoke sharply, "it caught me off guard. That's all."

Squinn finally emerged from the blanket and sighed. "Impulse took me over, I wasn't thinking."

"Impulse for what?"

The squids stared at one another, both blushing deep crimson. Squinn attempted to speak, but his closing throat caused him to only cough and clear his throat for a minute before forcing the words out to the best of his ability.

"It's just, we were talking about relationships, dating experience, not picking up on cues, I don't know...the conversation was leaning in a way that would...lead me to believe…"

His words faltered and Squidward leaned in slightly, eager to hear more. "Led you to believe…?"

"That…you were interested in...me, that's what I assumed."

The courage Squidward wished for began creeping into him. The moment he mounted up in his head had finally arrived and he knew if he just let it go, he would never have such an opportune chance again.

"Would that be a bad thing? If I were interested in you?"

"No!" Squinn exclaimed with too much excitement. He toned himself down, "no, I would be flattered."

Squidward nodded. He took a deep breath. "Are you flattered?"

They stared at one another, and as Squinn's facial expression shifted from concern to confusion to a smile, Squidward knew his line was enough to convey his feelings without having to say it. He laughed at Squinn's cute reaction and before he could say another word, he realized Squinn was leaning in.

"What-" Squidward began to speak, but his words were interrupted as Squinn's lips met his.

Squidward felt like fireworks were igniting in his chest. All the moments of confusing, pining for Squinn, never wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment, everything came to fruition as they kissed. A warmness unknown to Squidward filled his heart and never before had he experienced such ethereal excitement and happiness gush through him. Before meeting Squinn, happiness was a concept foreign to Squidward; he felt like the only star in the dismal abyss he called Bikini Bottom. All of his loneliness, frustration, misunderstanding, isolation, and every unwanted, abysmal feeling faded as he kissed his best friend, the squid he found such solace in, he couldn't believe what was happening. The flutters in his heart quickened, but the tightness and anxiety expelled from his body as he found himself experiencing one of the greatest moments of his life. Finally, after weeks and countless hours of thinking, Squidward finally kissed Squinn.

Squinn pulled away and both squids' faces flushed as they stared at one another. Squidward took charge of the situation and grabbed Squinn's tentacle, intertwining their grips as they gazed into one another's eyes. Squidward beamed, adorning a radiant smile that was never permitted to emerge. Squinn did the same and chuckled sheepishly.

"That felt good," Squinn noted, "it felt right."

"It did."

Squinn nodded and gripped Squidward tighter. Squinn asked Squidward a question, his voice low and soft as it surged with emotion.

"Shall we go back inside?"

Squidward trembled as he excitedly agreed. Both squids stood up, still intertwined as they gathered their blankets and headed into the apartment. Squidward never wanted to let go of Squinn as they entered the dark apartment, their only guiding light the moon's glow and their shy yet eager intuition.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: There are instructions on my profile to find a playlist all the songs featured in this story, check it out if you're interested.**

The past three days felt like a blur as Squidward floated through them. Wednesday night had finally come, and a few minutes after 6, Squidward was already biking home. He hadn't seen Squinn since Sunday night, but the events were so fresh in his mind, he could still hear them.

"_Well, Squidward, after that, there's only one logical progression we can take."_

_Squidward nodded._

"_Squidward," Squinn blushed, "will you be my boyfriend?"_

Squidward could still feel the warmth of his boyfriend's face as he kissed Squinn all over, making both squids smile. All of Monday and Tuesday at work, Squidward's thoughts lingered on the memory of their tentacles intertwined, their true admiration for one another finally coming to fruition. Life felt foggy, yet bright; Squidward's long-forgotten happiness returned to him and while he never enjoyed work, he enjoyed living. He looked forward to spending time with Squinn, continuing on his musical and artistic endeavors, he looked forward to learning more and experiencing new things with the squid he longed for romantically for what seemed like ages. Squidward never wanted to let go of the beautiful life he'd created and all the animosity, the melancholy, the overbearing loneliness faded from his once bitter heart. He never knew such a happiness to be achievable and he allowed himself to be overcome with happiness as he made his way home.

That happiness turned to confusion and surprise as he reached the top of a hill and his house came into view, revealing Squinn sitting on the ground and leaning against the front door. His bike leaned against the side of the house and Squinn had headphones in, bobbing his head to music. Squidward rode faster to reach his boyfriend, wondering why he showed up unannounced. As he pulled up to the house, Squinn took out his earbuds and smiled. Today his hair was slicked back and his canvas bag rested on the ground near his hip.

"Hi, Squidward," he chirped.

"Squinn," Squidward said, hopping off his bike, "I didn't know you were coming over. Why are you here?"

Squinn stood up and dusted himself off. "I thought I would come surprise you after work. I knew you wouldn't be expecting me."

Squidward laughed and handed his house key to Squinn. With a bike in each hand, Squidward instructed Squinn to go inside while he took care of the bikes. Squidward wheeled them to the back and leaned them against the house once more. Looping around the house, he re-entered from the front door and found Squinn sitting on the couch adjusting his sweater vest beneath the strap of his bag. Today he wore a burgundy vest, the same one he wore the first time he visited Squidward's home. Squinn rose as Squidward shut the front door and they approached one another, smiling before Squidward pulled Squinn in for a hug. He was still wary of displaying affection in public, one because he was inexperienced, two because he was awkward, and three because he kept an eye out for Spongebob so he could avoid his nosy neighbor. PDA around Spongebob was an issue he could deal with later.

"I hope you didn't have plans that I'm interfering with," Squinn blushed as they pulled away from the hug.

"Not at all. I was thinking about painting, possibly. I haven't done that in a while."

"That sounds fun," Squinn nodded, "I'd like to watch you paint."

Squidward led Squinn upstairs to the studio. The summer sun still shimmered through the windows, the sky still hours from setting. Squidward's most recent painting fit the usual abstract style, this piece featuring a squid broken up into different pieces, each piece painted a bold color that contrasted the ones around it. He approached the canvas and picked up a palette while Squinn sat on a stool nearby, marveling at the pieces around him. Squidward felt flattered to have Squinn curiously eyeing his work, but when it came time to paint, Squidward's tentacle seized up. Since painting with Squinn at the community center, he felt his art to be inferior, and that was the first time he'd ever experienced that kind of emotion towards his work. His entire life, Squidward took immense pride in his work and loved displaying it, but when it came to Squinn's paintings, Squinn was able to capture something Squidward could not. Squidward could feel the scenario in Squinn's canvases, the vivid colors and dreamy style transporting him to another world where he lived inside the painting, the warm sun caressing his body and the sweet flowers engulfing his nose. Looking at his own work, Squidward's mind became introverted, his thoughts being consumed by himself. He wished he could create the same emotions on the canvas that Squinn did. Squidward sighed louder than expected and watched Squinn pull the stool closer to the easel.

"Are you alright?" Squinn asked.

"Yeah," Squidward lied, "artist's block, I guess."

Their eyes met and as Squidward analyzed Squinn's facial expression, he realized that Squinn could probably see through the thinly-veiled lie.

"Okay, fine," Squidward admitted, "since we painted together at the community center, it's been difficult for me to motivate myself to paint."

Squinn leaned back, his brow furrowed. "How come?" he asked.

"You're...you're incredible," Squidward sighed again. He pulled another stool towards the easel and sat, the palette held firmly in his lap. "I keep thinking about your painting and looking at my work. I've always thought highly of my art, I've always believed in myself and my abilities, but seeing your work? I don't feel the same way about mine right now. I don't feel like it's as captivating or beautiful as yours. I've never felt discouraged towards my art."

Squinn reached out and rubbed Squidward's shoulder reassuringly. "Squidward," Squinn said, "you should never feel that way about your art. I think your work is incredible, I love looking at what you have on display in this studio."

Squidward nodded, tilting his face down so Squinn couldn't see the pained expression. Squinn suddenly stood up and slowly paced around the window, carefully eyeing the art and gazing out the window. He was silent, and as Squidward watched from the corner of his eye, he wondered if Squinn was starting to see the faults in his work. Squinn spun to look at Squidward and called his name, making Squidward's head lift.

"You say that you don't feel like your art is captivating?"

Squidward nodded again.

"You paint a lot of self-reflective things, your art is about bringing your inner feelings to life. You should try to apply those feelings to an outer force so we can see the picture through your eyes, and you can create a scene that requires audiences to think about how you portray a scene, how that affects what the scene contains and how the scene looks. It ties your thoughts and identity into something that others can relate to and see for themselves, _that_ is captivating. Think of a place or a memory that you love, one that's important to you and one that you see uniquely from others. Let your memories and personality color the canvas and create a still of your life, your emotions, and your experiences."

Squinn reached into his bag and pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker. Setting it on the windowsill, he synced his phone to it and sat on the floor, placing his bag next to him as he leaned against the wall. He propped his legs up so his knees and thighs created the perfect place for him to put his sketchbook, and while he pulled the book and pencil from his bag, he switched on some music.

"Listen to this," Squinn said, "channel your memories and feelings into your painting. Create something from what you love."

The music began to play and Squinn fell quiet as he started sketching, the warm light from outdoors glistening against his hair. Squidward let the music swirl around him, encapsulating him in his thoughts as he tried to choose a memory, the music guiding him towards a decision. The guitar swelled in his ears as the sing-song words accompanied.

_And I know it makes you nervous_

_But I promise you, it's worth it_

_To show 'em everything you kept inside_

_Don't hide, don't hide_

Squidward grinned as the memories came to him and he decided to paint the first time he went to Squinn's apartment. He remembered everything distinctly, not only because he frequented the studio, but his inner walls crumbled and he allowed himself to be happy. After so many years of convincing himself he deserved to suffer, Squidward allowed himself to enjoy pop music, life, and the company of others. In his eyes, the sun shimmered through the windows and lit up the apartment with a sunset's hue; the happiness and genuine joy flooding the room made every corner sparkle. That's how Squidward painted it: a room illuminated with pink and orange light, everything neat and quaint, and two squids stood small at the counter working on dinner. The squids were small against the background of the apartment, all the feelings associated with the moment being so vast and new and spectacular that they could hardly be described. Squidward let himself enjoy his life, he let himself relax and take a break from taking everything so seriously. He could abandon his suffering artist shell and don a carefree personality that cared about art, music, life, and friendship. Such feelings were so foreign to him, he felt like Bikini Bottom swallowed him up in melancholy and disdain. No more isolation, no more sadness, no more longing for something more; he had so much at his tentacles, the sun felt as if it shined on him and him alone. Every moment of his life now glowed with the pinks and oranges of a sunset, every prior minute of loneliness now diminished, and Squidward owed it to the squid that showed him there could be more to life than suffering and allowing himself to wallow in his own isolation. Squinn brought him down to Earth, Squinn helped him rekindle the joy and happiness deep within his soul, and for that, Squidward could only imagine capturing that in a painting.

He set his paintbrush down and took a step back from his finished painting. He realized the light in the room shimmered golden, signalling the sun setting. Squinn took the cue to set his sketchbook down and approach Squidward warily.

"How is it looking?" Squinn asked cautiously.

"Come see," Squidward smiled.

Squinn stood next to Squidward and grinned while Squidward put an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. "Squidward," he cooed, "you chose the apartment?"

Taking a deep breath, Squidward recalled the thoughts circulating through his mind while he painted. Realizing how important the relationship was to him, Squidward kissed Squinn's forehead and pulled him into a hug. Squinn rubbed Squidward's back.

"What?"

Squidward pressed his face against Squinn, his voice coming out muffled. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

Squinn hugged him tighter. "Thank you for everything you've done for _me._"

Squidward and Squinn broke away from the hug and marveled at Squidward's painting once more. Looking at the painting, Squidward remembered it was starting to get dark. "Are you spending the night here?"

Squinn's head quickly turned to face Squidward. "Did you want me to?"

Squidward nodded.

Squinn smiled and took Squidward's tentacle. "I can."

"Let's get something to eat," Squidward said. He smiled at his boyfriend and kissed him one more time before leading him down the stairs, excited to experience the painting all over again in his own kitchen.


	12. Chapter 12

The day began as normal as ever; tea at Squinn's apartment in the early afternoon of a sunny Sunday. The light streamed through the large glass window and lit up the room, decorating the floor and furniture with stripes of brilliant sunlight. Squidward and Squinn sat at the table next to the window.

"These past two weeks have gone by so fast," Squidward remarked as he sipped his tea. He tried a new peach green tea today, perfectly complimenting the brightness of the day.

"They have," Squinn nodded.

Squidward sighed and gazed out the window at the city below. He'd always hated Bikini Bottom, especially the inhabitants, but the deeper he fell in love, the easier it became to tolerate it. Fish didn't seem so surely with love in the air.

"Bikini Bottom looks so much better from up here," Squidward said.

"I think seeing it from a higher perspective erases the subtleties of the unpleasantness."

Squidward turned to Squinn and watched him tip his head back to swallow the last few drops of tea in his mug. He gingerly set the mug down and, noticing gaze upon him, turned to Squidward. "What?"

"You make it better, too."

Though Squinn was used to the comments, he still flushed a deep crimson. "So do you."

Squidward chuckled and reassuringly rubbed Squinn's leg before turning back to look out the window. He watched the small flecks of fish bustle about the streets, boats breaking up the composition as they rushed around in grid-like patterns.

"Bikini Bottom is still a culturally desolate place," Squidward scoffed, "I really don't understand why you would choose to live here."

"I could ask you the same thing. You never have much good to say about Bikini Bottom."

"I don't have enough money to move, my hourly wage is a joke. I also have the misfortune of my parents living on the outskirts of the city, so I need to be close by."

Squinn nodded and silently rose from his seat, making his way towards the kettle on the stove. Squidward took the opportunity to continue his rant. "I'd never live in Bikini Bottom if I had the option. I'll never understand why you moved here voluntarily, especially with a college education; you could go anywhere you desired. Bikini Bottom has no talent, no aspiration, no hope. The creatures here aren't any better.

"I mean," Squinn reflected, "if I hadn't come here, we wouldn't have met. Even if Bikini Bottom isn't the first choice of living arrangements, it doesn't matter now that we're together."

"I guess," Squidward chortled, "but maybe we could move to another city nearby, one with culture and something interesting, or historic, or worthwhile."

Squinn poured new water into his mug and made his way back to the table. "I can't exactly up and leave," he said as he slid onto the chair, "I love my apartment and my job. It's a bit difficult to move a music business to another town."

"I still can't believe there are other sea creatures around here that take music lessons."

Squinn raised a brow and eyed his boyfriend suspiciously as Squidward laughed. "What do you mean?"

"Squinn, you're the only intelligent creature I've met here. No one around here takes music lessons, writes, creates art, or does even half of the things you do, and if they do, they aren't half as talented as you."

"I wouldn't say that, necessarily."

"_I_ would," Squidward asserted, "I don't know anyone else that takes music lessons or puts any effort into being cultured or intelligent."

"Your boss must be somewhat intelligent to manage a business," Squinn retorted, "and what about the other authors that contribute to _The Pacific_?"

"Krabs is a cheapskate, not intelligent. The other authors are intelligent, sure, but it's because they're educated. And, well, I imagine they're...not from Bikini Bottom originally, if they live near here at all."

"Oh," Squinn's voice trailed off, "alright." He sipped on his tea and both boys quietly stared out the window, Squidward with a smirk and Squinn with a frown. They sat this way for a few moments before Squinn stood and moved near the TV. Squidward spun his chair around to watch Squinn set his tea on the coffee table and pull out a crossword puzzle from beneath a stack of papers and magazines. Wordlessly, he kneeled before the coffee table and leaned into the puzzle, tapping the end of the pen to his mouth as he reviewed the prompts.

"Why don't you bring it over here so I can help?" Squidward asked.

Squinn didn't respond.

Squidward stared at him, puzzled by the lack of response. His eyes flickered as he scanned every inch of Squinn's face trying to analyze what he must be thinking. He wondered if the sunlight was too prominent in his eyes. Their conversation might have reminded Squinn of the desolate nature of the city. It was quite possible that Squinn simply didn't want to sit at the table anymore.

"Squinn."

"Yes?" Squinn responded. He didn't deter his eyes from the puzzle.

"What's the matter?"

Squinn didn't react for a moment, but he finally sighed and looked at Squidward. "I don't exactly appreciate how low you talk about fish from this area."

Squidward was taken aback by this statement. "You've never been bothered by it before. What did I say?"

"You're insinuating that uneducated sea creatures aren't as good as those who are, coupled with this mentality that no one from Bikini Bottom can be intelligent."

It was Squidward's turn to frown at Squinn. "Think about when you go into the Krusty Krab. How many fish do you think are culturally educated when they plop down in there and have a greasy Krabby Patty?"

"Fish that don't have the same opportunities as you, Squidward," Squinn spoke firmly, his tone slightly angry.

"There are plenty of other options that are healthier, more cultured, and more interesting than the Krusty Krab," Squidward asserted, "that's not the point of this discussion, I'm saying that the fish of Bikini Bottom aren't as cultured or educated as you and I."

Squinn dropped the pen on the coffee table and he put his arms at his sides, his fists trembling slightly. "You don't know what anyone else has been through, they might not be able to afford to play an instrument or go to college. You're always talking about how we're cultured, but what does that even mean?"

Squidward drummed his leg impatiently. "I don't know anyone outside of us that devotes time to learning about art and music."

"What does it matter? We aren't better than anyone else, that stuff really doesn't matter."

"It matters to me, Squinn," Squidward snapped, "I didn't have any friends before I met you. Everyone else seemed so uninteresting and you came along and were the smartest, most interesting sea creature I'd ever met. I don't know anyone else who has an education, who strives to learn about things, who practices artistic mediums. I'm excited to have an equal to talk to. Doesn't _that_ matter to you?"

Squinn rose to his feet and crossed his arms. "I'm not dating you because we're intellectual equals, I'm dating you because I love you. Our hobbies aren't any better than your boss' or your neighbor's, you just perceive it that way. That's why you hate Bikini Bottom so much, you make it sound like you're better than everyone else because you can paint and play the clarinet."

Squidward shot up from his seat and leaned with one arm on the chair to support himself. "Anyone who wants to be cultured can take music lessons from you and pick up a paintbrush and drink a cup of tea every once in a while, that's how _we _acquired those tastes. That would make Bikini Bottom much more cultured and artistic, wouldn't it? You'd be teaching more lessons, you'd have more readers per article, there wouldn't be as many bottom feeders like Spongebob and Patrick doing juvenile things that aren't worthwhile. We wouldn't even feel the need to move to another city."

Squinn's face flushed with its recurring hue, this time with anger. "When did I ever say I wanted to move?" he said, his tone slowly rising into yelling, " I love living here, I love my apartment and I love my job, _you're _the one who wants to move. I came here because I _wanted _to be here, why is it so hard for you to believe that someone would want to live in Bikini Bottom?"

"Because it's _Bikini Bottom_," Squidward shot back, "there aren't any opportunities here. I work at the Krusty Krab, you can't tell me there's anything here that's worth settling down for."

"It's better than where I grew up," Squinn yelled, "there are plenty of opportunities here that you're too conceited to see."

"Are you kidding me? Like what?"

"I get to write for a prestigious magazine and teach music lessons, Squidward, I live in a beautiful studio apartment," he yelled even louder, "Bikini Bottom is a good place to live."

Squinn's fists were clenched so hard that the tops of his tentacles were white. Squidward's lean became a stand with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Squidward had never been in such a heated debate before and his adrenaline fueled the venom behind his words.

"My life sucks here, Squinn," he spat, "you don't understand the hardship I live through. I don't have a nice job and a nice place to live; you'd understand my plight if you knew how alone I was before I met you. You have nice things and you got to start a new life here; I've been here my entire miserable life."

"Are you kidding me? I would have done _anything _to grow up here."

"I can't imagine any place worse than Bikini Bottom."

"Try Rock Bottom, Squidward, try growing up impoverished with no hope of a future."

Squidward stared at Squinn, completely dumbfounded. Squinn trembled.

"Squinn," he said in a softer voice, "I didn't-"

"Don't even try to tell me Rock Bottom isn't a bad area, you wouldn't know. I grew up in a poor neighborhood with a single mother who worked day and night to provide for me and it was never enough. I taught music lessons in the afternoons and stayed up well into the night making sure my grades didn't slip because my mom always told me that if I didn't work hard and get an education, I wouldn't survive. I worked like hell. Scholarships and working like hell were the only reasons I made it to college: I worked like hell through college and I work like hell now. We didn't have the luxury of taking music lessons and studying art and leisurely pursuing our interests because we didn't have enough money to put food on the table. Bikini Bottom offers me everything I ever wanted growing up. I earned an education here, I have a beautiful apartment, I love both of my jobs, I made amazing friends, and I met you.

"I'm not the only one that's been through it. All of my friends in Rock Bottom struggled as much, some more, than I did. No one had it easy and no one took it for granted. My instruments came from thrift stores and yard sales, my food came from work weeks longer than you can imagine, my mom's apartment came from pooling every penny we had before it became an eviction notice. Fish like that can't afford to 'pick up a paintbrush' or 'drink a cup of tea' and some of the greatest sea creatures I've met are the ones who couldn't tell you Mozart from Monet.

"You're not better than someone because you're 'cultured', and if anything should matter that much to you, it should be someone's character. Anyone acting as narcissistic as you wouldn't look down on others if he'd been looked down on with the same scrutiny. Bikini Bottom is full of opportunities you're too egotistical to see and if you're going to attack those who aren't as fortunate or privileged as you, you're no better than the fish _you _look down on."

Squidward stared at Squinn in silence as Squinn pushed past him and unlocked the glass door leading to the balcony. Squidward reached out to touch his shoulder, but Squinn quickly dodged the advance.

"Leave, Squidward, I don't want to talk to you." Squinn slipped out the door before Squidward could put in a word.

Squidward looked out the window and watched Squinn slide to the ground, his back against the wall as he sat down and ran his tentacles through his hair. He sighed, grabbed his bike near the front door, and left the apartment.

Squidward's stomach lurched as he mounted his bike. He was left with so much information swirling through his head. He never had any indication that Squinn struggled through his adolescence and hearing the hardships being screamed in succession shook him to the core. Squidward never felt such sympathy towards another creature as he imagined Squinn as a teenager, struggling to stay afloat, while he remembered his adolescence being filled with creativity, a few close friends, and general content with his family. Squinn never spoke about his childhood, but no opportunity arose to discuss it. His stomach knotted with guilt and, for the first time in a long time, he felt selfish. He felt selfish for not taking Squinn's feelings into consideration and selfish for never asking Squinn about his life, but his emotions were mixed when it came to the rest.

Conceited? Narcissistic? Egotistical? No one had ever thrown those words in his face. How could he be those things if no one else called him those things? Those were the words that stung Squidward more than anything, especially the comments Squinn made about being cultured. Any friends that Squidward had growing up possessed the same interests and opportunities; knowing nothing about the arts was simply a result of not putting the time into it. He didn't think it was conceited to say that not being cultured was the fault of the individual; Squinn was able to do it with the background he had. On the other hand, he valued Squinn's opinions and knew Squinn only spoke the truth. Squidward never remembered any instance of him being selfish at the expense of others, but if Squinn believed he was, there must have been something he did to foster that opinion.

Squidward veered his bike down another path, not ready to return home yet. He wasn't self-centered...was he? No, he couldn't be, he spent more time with Squinn than he spent with himself. Narcissistic? He didn't have to boast about being talented at art and music with Squinn complimenting him, Squinn was a music teacher and never recommended lessons. Egotistical? He thought Squinn was slightly more talented than himself. It wasn't a secret that Bikini Bottom wasn't cultured and Squidward couldn't be the only one that thought so; there was no way he was conceited. There weren't any opportunities in Bikini Bottom, there never were. He worked at a dead end job and had no friends because there was no one in town that could keep up with him except for Squinn.

Squidward had no idea the path he took cut through a few side streets of downtown Bikini Bottom. Sighing deeply, he tried to bike through the area as fast as he could. All the sea creatures on the main streets looked vacant as they carelessly bustled along the pavement. Thankfully, the side streets didn't have many obstacles polluting the way on the first street, but along the second street, more fish became prominent. As Squidward made his way down the path, he heard music. The sweet sounds echoed off the buildings surrounding him and resonated through the squid as he slowed down, the music becoming louder, the crowd becoming thicker. When the music hit its loudest peak, Squidward hopped off his bike and cautiously approached the source of the music.

Circled by a rather large group of fish and other sea creatures were two fish sitting on chairs, one with a guitar and one with a violin. The guitar case lay open before them and the guitar player rhythmically plucked barre chords, hitting every note with accuracy. Squidward watched his fins fly up and down the neck as he stretched to meet each string. Next to the guitar player, a fish sat with a violin pushed to his chin. The fish swayed with the music as he methodically played a melody, the vibratos swelling and filling the city air with a lively, pleasant feeling. Squidward couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene before him.

"Who would've thought Piazzolla could sound so good with a guitar and violin?" a fish next to Squidward said, gently nudging Squidward's arm.

"P-Piazzolla?"

"Ever heard of him?"

Squidward shook his head. The fish shrugged and turned back to the performance. Squidward watched in silent disbelief as the musicians hit each note perfectly, their melodies seemingly blending together and filling the air around them with the sweet serenade of harmony. The fish finished their song and Squidward found himself clapping as they stood and took a bow.

Squidward hopped on his bike and continued down the path, leaving the sweet music behind him. A narcissist wouldn't have stopped and listened to another musician, especially when he knew there wasn't any talent in Bikini Bottom except for himself and Squinn and the street performers. Bikini Bottom didn't have much culture to offer, so Squidward was surprised to see so many fish listening to a street performer with a violin. He knew he wasn't conceited because he could acknowledge that the crowd of fish on that street corner liked violin, and to make things better for his case, another fish knew of a classic artist that Squidward didn't know and it only mildly bothered him. Piazzolla couldn't have been that important if Squidward was unaware of the composer's existence.

_Bikini Bottom is full of opportunities you're too egotistical to see and if you're going to attack those who aren't as fortunate or privileged as you, you're no better than the fish you look down on._ These last words replayed in Squidward's head as the music faded into the background of the city. Squidward wondered what it would be like if he actually went through with moving. _Bikini Bottom is full of opportunities you're too egotistical to see. _Squidward never spent enough time in the city to see street performers with violins and guitars before. Y_ou're no better than the fish you look down on. _Who the hell was Piazzolla, anyways? _You're no better. _Squidward Tentacles was nothing like the bottom feeders. _Anyone acting as narcissistic as you wouldn't look down on others if he'd been looked down on with the same scrutiny. _Squidward Tentacles wasn't narcissistic. _As narcissistic as you…_

_As narcissistic as me, _Squidward felt the words unconsciously flowing from his tongue as he arrived at his house. He sighed heavily and brought his bike through the front door. _As narcissistic as me, as conceited as me, as egotistical as me, _it felt like jelly as the words strained Squidward's lips to say anymore.

"Squinn was right," Squidward mumbled as he sank onto the couch, "I am conceited."


	13. Chapter 13

The next two days dragged by at such an extreme, sluggish pace, Squidward felt like every minute blended into the next with no definition of the passing of time. Every tick-tock of the clock above the register pierced his thoughts like nails piercing wood and all he could think about was how great things would be if he just shut his mouth. The desire to stop talking for once was a desire previously foreign to him, but it seemed as if every word that tumbled out only made things worse. Any attempt to reconcile with Squinn made things worse.

Him: _Hey_

Nothing that Sunday night.

Him: _Are you busy right now?_

Nothing until Tuesday morning:

S: _Yes. _

Him: _Can I come over after work so we can talk?_

S: _No. _

Him: _When are you going to be ready to listen to me?_

Nothing else.

Squidward noted a change of heart towards patrons of the Krusty Krab as he served them their food. Yes, anything "edible" coming from the Krusty Krab was a greasy waste of calories, but the Krusty Krab remained one of the most affordable food options in the area. He watched fish sit at tables and scarf down their food, but Squidward's first thoughts of _That's disgusting _turned into _Maybe there isn't a choice. _His contempt for the Krusty Krab and the inhabitants of Bikini Bottom still stood, even if he knew those philosophies may actually be conceited. He couldn't help his attitudes towards Bikini Bottom and the sea creatures within it. His detachment from others only festered while he rotted away at work, his only company being his exhausting neighbor.

As luck would have it, Spongebob poked his head out of the window behind Squidward and called the name of the order he was holding. Squidward sighed heavily, his chest heaving dramatically as he took the tray from Spongebob's hands and handed it to the fish in front of them.

"You seem down, Squidward," Spongebob observed, his head tilting slightly, "Are you okay?"

"Never better," Squidward answered bitterly.

"Is it your boyfriend?"

Squidward didn't answer. He resisted the urge to check his phone and instead pulled a magazine out from below the register.

Spongebob leaned back into the kitchen and flipped a few patties on the grill. "You know," he smiled, "you always have me if you need someone to talk to. I might understand why you're sad."

Squidward whipped around and stuck his head through the window. "You don't know how I feel," he shot back belligerently, "I have to reevaluate everything I am because I was told I was selfish. When have you _ever_ had to go through that?"

Spongebob kept calm and maintained his wise, somewhat weary smile. "Maybe I don't know exactly what you're feeling, but I can offer advice."

"I don't need your help," Squidward concluded. He settled back into his seat at the register and tightened his grip on the magazine, the pages crinkling beneath his tentacles.

"If it makes you feel any better," Spongebob spoke softly from the kitchen, "I don't think you're selfish: I think you're burnt out. You should tell someone how you really feel."

Squidward huffed and tried to focus on the print before him, but the harder he tried pushing Spongebob's ideas away, the stronger they infiltrated his psyche. He felt angry at the world: angry at Bikini Bottom, angry at his job, angry at his annoying neighbors, angry at every sea creature he came into contact with. The emotional detachment from others manifested into a bubble around him, a bubble that grew with every demeaning and hateful comment escaping his lips. The more he talked down towards the fish around him, the greater his disdain grew, the greater the detachment, the greater the idea that no one could satisfy him but himself. So came the narcissism, the vanity, the idea that everyone disappointed him so many times that the only way to protect himself was to build himself up as the only company worthy enough. No one could ever come close to or top Squidward Tentacles because Squidward Tentacles was the only thing that wasn't disappointing about Bikini Bottom. He had talent, artistic vision, knowledge of literature, everything that someone seemingly wanted in another sea creature, but no one in Bikini Bottom could understand him. No one in his circle knew of art, literature, music, refined tastes. Squidward had no one; no one except Squinn.

Squinn fueled Squidward with the emotional reconnection to reality that he desperately needed. Squinn gave Squidward a reason to care about life, a reason to pursue his interests, a reason to never give up on himself because no matter what anyone else thought, he had someone to come home to. Squidward knew he could go to Squinn and ramble as long as he pleased; Squinn would understand. Something about Squinn captivated Squidward and, for the first time, Squidward began to realize that someone was more talented than himself. The years of emotionally isolating himself convinced Squidward that he was the greatest, most talented company: Squinn shattered that ideal. Squidward's narcissism came from years of dissonance, years of isolation and sadness and a feeble attempt at optimism that culminated into a cacophony of identities weakly woven into the shape of a squid. He was creative, conceited, musical, melancholy, literary, lonely, determined, detached, he was everything all at once, woven together with the thread of optimism that convinced him to hold out for the creature that could unlock the flourishing soul beneath it all, and that creature finally came. Squinn gave him the courage to look at what he'd become. Squinn gave him the ability to define those identities dwelling within him. Squinn gave Squidward the opportunity to step away from himself and ask why he felt the way he did. Squinn finally gave Squidward an answer.

Squidward pulled out his phone one more time. He quickly typed a message to Squinn.

Him: _Please let me know when you're ready to talk. _

Squidward knew he needed to explain the emotional detachment, misguided reassurance, growing narcissism, antipathy and hostility towards others. He was finally ready to admit something he'd never been able to say his entire life: "_It's my own fault."_ He built his own walls, established his own prejudices, vilified his own community, and set his own behavioral patterns. His spiral into depression and disdain was fueled by his inability to be transparent and now, with Squinn in his life, Squidward finally established a net of trust and sensibility he could fall back on.

_I'm finally going to apologize, _Squidward thought to himself, _I'm finally going to explain, I'm finally going to open up. I want to be my best, authentic self with Squinn: no walls, no judgement, no excuses. _

Squidward turned and poked his head through the window. Spongebob's back was to the window as he assembled patties, quietly humming to himself. He turned to make his way back to the grill and caught Squidward's eyes.

"What?" he asked. He handed the full tray to Squidward.

"Thank you for the help, Spongebob."

Spongebob's eyes lit up and he grinned brightly, happy to have helped a friend. Squidward called out the order on the tray and smiled at the fish that took it. He exhaled deeply, content with the fact that he finally smiled at a customer in the Krusty Krab. He wasn't disgusted or disdainful towards the fish as the customer sat down and began eating.

_You never know what someone is going through_, he remembered.


	14. The Final Chapter

Squidward, unfortunately, couldn't take action until the next day. Wednesday morning, he did the unthinkable and called off the day at work. He told Mr. Krabs and Spongebob that he was sick, making sure to call Krabs and text Spongebob:

Him: _Hey, Spongebob, I won't be coming in today. I'm sick._

S: _Oh no! Are you okay? Do you want me to come take care of you after work?_

Him: _No, I'm not that sick. Thank you._

S: _Oooh, okay, okay. Have fun then ;)_

Him: _Don't tell Krabs._

S: _I won't. Just go fix things :)_

The kindness that Spongebob showed him made Squidward feel guilty for always pushing him away, but the issues with Squinn were the ones to focus on at the moment. Around midday, he hopped on his bike and rode towards downtown Bikini Bottom. Nestled in the outskirts of the main metro area was a flower shop, plastered with pastel colors and adorned with flowers of all varieties. Squidward leaned his bike against the front of the store and walked in, setting off the ringing bell that peered over the door frame.

A middle-aged fish with curled, bleach-blonde hair sat behind the front counter, meticulously putting together a bouquet. "Good morning," she chirped in a sing-songy voice, "can I help you?"

"I'm looking to get my, uh," he cleared his throat, "partner, some flowers."

"Special occasion?" she inquired, stepping out from behind the counter and making her way towards some roses.

"No," Squidward smiled, "just a surprise."

"I bet she likes roses. Every girl loves roses."

Squidward bit his lip and decided to not correct the fish. "Lilies, actually. Orange lilies."

"Excellent choice," the fish smiled. She scurried to the opposite end of the store and produced a fresh bouquet of the requested flowers, meticulously wrapping them in plastic before handing Squidward a packet or two of plant food. Squidward paid her, hopped back on his bike, and rode towards home.

On the way home, Squidward stopped at the grocery store and picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir. _Squinn likes this kind,_ he told himself as he rode home with wine and flowers in hand, _we can sit and talk over wine, yeah, that'll be nice. _Squidward's heart still felt weak and fluttery when he thought about the way Squinn's voice cracked when he yelled, the way he sunk to the ground and ran his tentacles through his hair with the weight of wrought emotions. He was anxious to alleviate that lasting image in his mind and Squidward planned on stopping by Squinn's apartment to surprise him.

That afternoon, Squidward rode slowly on the way to Squinn's. Squidward often rode his bike in silence, wanting to listen to the world around him, but today, he used his phone to put on a classical piece, then cranked up the volume of the ear buds. Brian Crain's "Time Forgotten" swelled in his head and swirled in his thoughts, recalling the street performers on the day of the fight. The violin ebbed and flowed with such beauty against the chimes of the piano, serving as a soundtrack to Squidward's memories as the mental image of Squinn sinking to the ground replayed repeatedly. Squidward gulped, overwhelmed with anxiety as to what his future held, both for himself and his relationship.

Squidward eventually pulled up to the apartment complex and wheeled his bike through the lobby and towards the elevator, flowers and wine in one tentacle and the bike in the other. As he stepped into the elevator, he rehearsed what he would lead the conversation with: _Hi, Squinn, I came here to apologize. I was selfish and inconsiderate of your circumstances. I shouldn't have acted that way. Please give me another chance. Thank you._

"Hi, Squinn," he mumbled to himself as the elevator opened to the floor, "I came here to apologize."

Squidward slowly wheeled the bike down the hall.

"I was selfish and inconsiderate of your circumstances. I shouldn't have acted that way."

He approached the door.

"Please give me another chance."

He knocked on the door, tentacle trembling.

"Thank you," he whispered.

No one came to answer the door. Squidward rocked back and forth, feeling the sweat beading against his forehead. He knocked again. Still no answer. Squidward leaned his head against the door and listened for any sounds on the other side. Nothing.

_He must not be home._

Squidward spent another minute or two rocking in place before sighing heavily, leaning his bike against the wall, and reaching into his shirt pocket. He produced the key to Squinn's apartment. Squidward stared at the key, turning it over in his tentacle. _I probably shouldn't go in, I don't think he wants to see me,_ Squidward thought, _but...I have to make things right. _

Hesitantly, Squidward popped the key into the lock. He unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open, hoping Squinn wasn't standing near the door. When Squidward realized the apartment was empty, he placed the key back in his pocket and wheeled the bike inside.

Squidward leaned the bike against the wall near the door and set the wine on the island in the kitchen. He quickly realized that the apartment looked different and it took him a second to realize that the couch was no longer present. Only the coffee table remained where the couch used to be. Thinking about Squinn removing furniture led Squidward to think about Squinn moving, and he felt his chest become tighter with anxiety over that hypothetical. Wanting to distract himself, he looked to the kitchen counter and noticed a plethora of scattered sheet music littering the kitchen counter. _He probably left to teach a music lesson,_ Squidward realized. He hunted around the kitchen for a flower vase and filled it with water, making sure to mix in the plant food the florist provided. Squidward trimmed the bottom stems of the flowers and arranged them in the vase, then moved the vase to the long white table near the window. He placed the vase next to the other potted plants and watched the soft sunlight shimmer through the petals of the flowers.

A sudden wave of nausea plagued Squidward's stomach and he shivered, his body feeling as if it were being swept off the ground. He felt like an intruder, standing in the center of Squinn's apartment, alone and anxious and acutely aware of his unwanted presence in the room. Even without a physical force telling him to leave, he felt like he shouldn't be there.

Squidward glanced down at the coffee table and realized the puzzle from a few days prior was no longer there. A new puzzle lay partially finished on the table. Squidward sat on the ground with his legs crossed and scooched himself so his folded legs were hidden from sight beneath the table. He stared at the puzzle, hoping to put some more pieces in place. Squinn always started with the border pieces and these were the only pieces in place. The rest were scattered around the table. Squidward studied the picture of the country house on the box, but his head felt so fogged with stress, he couldn't concentrate. His attempt to work on the puzzle became his attempt at trying to keep his breathing in check.

Squidward stared at the puzzle for 15 minutes, yet it felt like an hour. His eyes only lifted from the table when he heard the lock of the door click. Squidward held his breath as the door opened.

Squinn walked in holding his bike by the handlebars. He looked the same as when they first met: his thick brown hair was slicked back with a few stubborn pieces flying forward to frame his thick glasses. The white collar poked out from underneath his blue navy sweater vest and reminded Squidward of the first time he ever laid eyes on Squinn, the first time he thought, _Wow. Who is THAT?_

Squinn locked eyes with Squidward and they stared at each other for a moment, completely silent. "Hello, Squidward," Squinn mumbled.

Squidward cleared his throat. "Hi," he croaked.

Squinn rested his bike on Squidward's and stepped back into the hallway momentarily. He returned with his cello and, after closing the door, awkwardly shuffled past Squidward to set the case in its usual place.

Squinn stepped towards his bed and sat on the edge of it. He didn't look at his boyfriend: only towards the ground.

The intensity of the silence between them ate at Squidward, who felt compelled to quickly end the stagnance. "I brought you flowers," he said, motioning towards the vase twinkling in the sunlight.

Squinn glanced over at the flowers. "I see."

"Orange lilies," Squidward added, "I know you like orange lilies."

Squinn nodded.

Squidward could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. His tentacles trembled with anxiety, unable to read his partner's emotions. He cleared his throat one more time. "Squinn," he began.

Squinn turned away. "I think you should go," he interrupted. The tone of his voice was curt, monotone, uninterested in whatever Squidward had to say.

Squidward stood up from the coffee table. "Please, Squinn, I'm sorry."

Squinn took off his glasses and set them on the bed. "Squidward," he began, rubbing his eyes.

Time felt like it stopped in Squidward's mind. Everything in the background faded to black and Squinn sat alone in a deep abyss, avoiding eye contact. In that moment, the only thing to exist was him: no flowers, no apartment, no care for appearance, only the necessity to hold Squinn tightly before he faded away like everything else. Squidward put every hang-up he'd ever had on hold to dive towards Squinn, and in an instant, he found himself kneeling at Squinn's feet and tightly holding his arms.

"I'm so sorry, Squinn, please listen," the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think about what he was saying. His tentacles quickly moved to Squinn's after he finished his first sentence.

Squinn's head abruptly turned to Squidward's, alarmed at the speed that Squidward lept to the ground and grapled for his tentacle.

"The thought of being as inconsiderate as I was is killing me, Squinn, I'm sorry. I didn't know where you came from or what you went through, and I didn't consider anyone else's perspective except my own, and you're right, I _am_ narcissistic, I_ am_ egotistical, but you're helping to change that, don't you see?"

Squidward gripped Squinn tighter.

"Squinn, you've opened my eyes to so many beauties in life that I never would have known. I wouldn't be kneeling on the ground before you if my ego were too mighty or the consequences of my actions weren't so heavy. You have taught me the importance of perspective, and understanding, and listening, and loving, and the list could continue forever. You have helped me grow into someone new and I don't want you to think I'm egotistical, or narcissistic, or close-minded. I don't want to be conceited, I don't want to make the fish around me feel like they're low-brow, I don't want any more negativity in my life because every day without you has been and will be the most miserable days of my existence. I want to be better, I want to be with you, I want to live my life with you, I want you to be happy, and I don't care where it happens as long as we're together. Please give me another chance. I'm sorry, Squinn, I want to make things up any way I can. I know my apology isn't much, I know it doesn't heal the wounds I've opened, but if you could at least think about what I've said, that's all I ask of you."

Squidward held his breath, tightening his grip on his boyfriend's tentacles. Squinn sighed, eyes still facing the floor. "You hurt me, Squidward. You were insulting."

"I know."

"What we come from isn't a measure of our character."

"I know."

Squinn finally lifted his head and stared into Squidward's eyes with the force of daggers. "Do you?"

"I've thought about it a lot, Squinn," Squidward assured, "I was on my way home from your apartment and there were these fish playing music on the street, and they were playing something I've never heard before-"

Squinn rolled his eyes and tried to shift away, but Squidward firmly held Squinn in place. "Listen," Squidward continued, "it was two ordinary fish on the side streets of downtown, just sitting in chairs, playing guitar and violin. There were so many sea creatures gathered around and they all knew more about the performance than _I _did. The sounds of the strings melted together like they were long-time lovers, I didn't know how many fish in the area appreciated the violin, and I was stunned to realize that Bikini Bottom _does_ have culture to offer, I was just too blind to see it. It doesn't matter where you come from and it doesn't matter where you are, Squinn. I know that now."

Squidward finally let go of Squinn and placed his tentacles on his knees. "I mean, look at _you,_" Squidward declared, "you came from a background of hardship and you still loved music and art all throughout it, and here you are now, pursuing your talents in the arts, literary, and musical cultures of Bikini Bottom, cultures that I didn't think were here. Just because Bikini Bottom isn't magical for me doesn't make it any less magical than it actually is. I'm sorry I didn't realize this before, Squinn."

Squidward's feelings had never before tumbled out so poetic, so powerful. The squids stared at one another and he desperately tried to read Squinn's flickering pupils, wondering what he would say. Squidward wasn't even aware of all the emotions bubbling within him, but when the thought of losing Squinn was imminent, Squidward knew he had to put everything on the line. Squinn helped unlock the piece of his heart that told him to keep his feelings buried within him. He never wanted to lose the happiness he felt in Squinn's company. Squidward just held his breath, staring back at Squinn. He felt the color rush to his cheeks and desperately thought, _What do I do now?_

Squinn wordlessly slid from the bed to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed and his back leaning against the bed. He reached for Squidward, wrapped his arms around him, and pulled Squidward partially into his lap and fully into a hug. Squidward hugged Squinn back. Squinn burrowed his head into Squidward's shoulder, his wavy hair falling forward. They sat in a long embrace, holding one another, not a sound between them. When they finally broke from the hug, they raised their heads and looked at one another. Squinn's eyes welled with tears.

"Thank you, Squidward," Squinn whispered.

Squidward nodded as he felt a wide grin rush to his face. He felt like a changed man, sitting with his soulmate and reflecting on the new squid he was becoming. The days of miserably sulking behind the register at the Krusty Krab felt so far removed. Squidward finally understood what it meant to be happy, what it meant to have a joyful heart, what it meant to enjoy every breath he took. He wasted so many years of his life in discontent, wishing to be rid of Bikini Bottom, wishing to flee as far as he could from Spongebob, minimum wage, and the desolate wasteland he called his hometown. He wished he could go back to his former self, the day the depression started seizing him, and help his past self realize how much Bikini Bottom would have to offer.

Squidward brushed the falling hair from Squinn's face, then kissed his forehead. "I got wine for us," he cooed, "I figured we could spend some time together. I just want to talk and enjoy your company. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Squidward," Squinn smiled. Squidward felt his heart lurch. He missed Squinn's smile.

Squidward rolled off of Squinn's lap and Squinn stood up, extending an arm for Squidward to help himself up. They stepped into the kitchen area and Squidward popped open the bottle while Squinn searched the cupboards for wine glasses.

"Pinot Noir," Squinn remarked as Squidward filled two glasses, "good choice."

"Your favorite choice," Squidward smiled as they clinked their glasses together.

The squids spent the late afternoon sipping wine, talking, listening, laughing, enjoying one another's company. The nights were still warm and Squinn took Squidward by the tentacle as the sun set, leading him out to the balcony. The sun slowly fell beyond the horizon and the stars danced into the sky, twinkling and winking at the star-struck lovers beneath them. Squidward's heart swelled hearing Squinn's voice again. The water he took into his lungs was refreshing, no longer feeling as if he were drowning. The future felt bright as Squidward sat with the love of his life, gazing at the sky and dreaming about the life before them. Squidward felt content for the first time as he reflected on how lucky he was to be with Squinn, how soothing it felt to be together again, how his life would only get more interesting as he took on Bikini Bottom with an open mind and heart. The squid confined to his miserable shell no longer existed, and in his place was a squid revived with a new sense of passion, kindness, understanding, and excitement towards his boyfriend, his friends, his city, his life. The vast sky was an empty horizon ready to be explored with his best friend by his side, and for once, Squidward couldn't wait to breathe. Squidward couldn't wait to live.

Nothing ever seemed to change. That bothered Squidward more than anything in life, more than the constant annoyances of his neighbors and the slew of insufferable customers he dealt with on a daily basis; he couldn't take the continuity. For years, it seemed the only disturbances of the usual grind were the antics Spongebob and Patrick dragged him into, and the more time passed, the more even they felt monotonous. He longed for fame from his artistic abilities, but at that point, anything new would have been welcomed with open tentacles. Life seemed to be a spinning void, pulling him under waves until he drowned in the exacerbation of Bikini Bottom and all its calamities. It wasn't until Squinn's voice broke his conscience, asked him to analyze the world in new ways, reminded him that the only way to be an artist, a musician, a friend, a lover, was to live. Life for Squidward was no longer a spinning typhoon of waves crushing his spirit.

Squidward took that introspective moment to pull Squinn in for one more hug, one more kiss. "You're so special to me, Squinn," he said.

"You're special to me, too, Squidward."

Squidward held Squinn tighter, never wanting to let go. Someone who started as seemingly nothing special became someone Squidward couldn't live without.


End file.
